


Linger

by deerntheheadlights



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Beth Greene Lives, Beth and Maggie are with the group from the beginning, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Younger Daryl Dixon, bethyl, eventual maggie greene/glenn rhee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerntheheadlights/pseuds/deerntheheadlights
Summary: He had to give Beth credit where credit was due, though. She saw right through him and it freaked him out a little bit. Her sister treated her like a little kid and her boyfriend treated her like a damsel in distress when, in reality, she was probably tougher than any of them. Beth’s was the subtle kind of strength; that gritty courage of everyday life where she got up and lived every single day and was determined to do the same thing tomorrow. Her optimism pissed him off because he couldn’t share it. He couldn’t think about tomorrow when dead people were up walking around and trying to eat them today. Maybe she was even stronger than him. She was definitely stronger than him.AU: Maggie and Beth Greene are with the group from the beginning
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Comments: 141
Kudos: 234





	1. The Quarry

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Maggie and Beth Greene are a part of the group from the beginning. Following canon--loosely-- starting in season one and continuing forward. 
> 
> *General Trigger Warning*

If there were any silver lining to be found in the apocalypse it’d be in the fact that it’d started in the late spring when the weather was already warm enough at night that sleeping in a tent in the quarry wasn’t especially unpleasant. Aside from the wind rusting the trees, an owl here or there, and the occasional croaking frog, their camp was quiet. The end of the world had, so far, felt like more of an extended camping trip than a desperate struggle for survival. The kids were still in school, for Christ’s sake, spending a few hours every day huddled around a makeshift milk crate table; hunched over whatever workbooks they’d held onto and picking up right where school left off. Seemed like a waste of time, if you’d asked him, which, of course, no one had. It’s not like he was an expert on early childhood education—or any education, really, with his half-of-10th-grade education and “learnin’ never did no one any good” upbringing—but knowing that capital of Nebraska or who the 17th president was seemed largely irrelevant then, in their little camp at the end of the world.

He and Merle had been with the group a little over 2 weeks; Merle, of course, did most of the talking while Daryl tried his best to keep any bridges from burning past the point of repair. It was clear none of those people were built for a world like the one they’d been thrust into; then, none of them had the kind of upbringing Daryl and his brother had: out in the woods as soon as they were big enough to hold a rifle, hunting for meals since there sure wasn’t any food back home and there sure wouldn’t be if they didn’t catch anything. It felt like they were made for the new world, Daryl wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. The others seemed like decent enough people. Shane, the cop who Merle seemed to recognize and hoped didn’t recognize him, was the unanimously appointed leader of the group. He was the only one with any sort of leadership skills; or any skills, really. He’d been suspicious of the brothers from the moment they’d, quite literally, stumbled upon the campsite. Having made their own camp about a mile North of the quarry, Merle and Daryl had been out looking for a meal when they heard the camp in the distance. Merle immediately wanted to scope it out and rob them blind come sundown. Daryl, on the other hand, was resistant to the idea of adding himself to the list of things that could kill those people out in those woods. Not that his hesitation meant anything to Merle, who after announcing his plan to Daryl immediately sauntered out from behind the trees and introduced himself to the camp.

“Well, well, well, looky here. Mighty fine set up y’all got here. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Merle said with a look on his face so smug Daryl, reluctantly following behind his brother from the tree line, was temped to beat it off him himself.

“That’s close enough—” Shane immediately stood from the fire, gun drawn. An older man with a rifle stood on top of an old RV pointing his gun directly at Daryl’s chest and he hoped to God that this wouldn’t be the moment when Merle finally got the two of them killed. “Who are you? Where’d you come from?” Shane continued.

“Name’s Merle, this here’s my little brother, Daryl. We got a camp ‘bout a mile-‘n-a-half North of ya. Out hunting deer, find you folk instead,” taking a step forward, Merle extended his hand to Shane who remained still and vigilant; gun still aimed right between the eyes.

Merle continued, “I think we’d all benefit from a lil’ partnership here. Y’all got a good set up here, safety in number, and we can hunt. Baby boy over there is awful good with that bow ‘a his. ‘M sure we could come to some kinda agreement here.”

The sneer in his voice made even Daryl’s stomach churn and yet, somehow, that line had gotten them in. They moved the truck and Merle’s bike over to the quarry camp, set their tents up, and split the squirrels they’d caught with the group. Lori, the woman doing a piss poor job at pretending not to be sleeping with the cop, asked more questions than Daryl was comfortable with; but it wasn’t really a problem since Merle answered them before he could even process what’d be asked.

“Have you been out here since the beginning?” She asked warily, it was clear no one really trusted the brothers and it was obvious the brothers, or at least Merle, didn’t particularly care.

“Nah ma’am, little brother and me were headed back up north to our daddy’s house when the…” Daryl went back to his tent, uninterested in hearing whatever lie Merle was going to tell, assuming he’d be filled in on it later whether he liked it or not.

So it went, the brothers went out to hunt, Merle dipped into his supply when he was bored and wanted to cause some trouble, Daryl only spoke when spoken to and when silence wouldn’t suffice as an answer—and almost always in defense of his brother—and life went on as usual with as much normalcy as could be expected from the apocalypse.

Until Merle didn’t come back from Atlanta.

Until instead of bringing back his brother, the run crew brought home a second cop and family of strays.

* * *

Rick sat around the fire with his son tucked into his side and his arm around his wife. For the first time since he’d woken up in Atlanta, he felt like he could breathe again. Being saved by Glenn in the city was a miracle, getting out of the city and back to the quarry was a miracle; hell, it was goddamn miracle he’d woken up at all that morning. But seeing his son, his wife, his best friend: Rick wasn’t sure he even believed in God until that moment. Shane reprimanded an older man that Rick could already tell was going to be trouble, an older man, Dale, told a story about a watch he had, and everyone talked quietly, introducing themselves to the others who’d been found along with Rick in Atlanta. A pair of sisters, and one of the girls’ boyfriends. Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy. Beth and Jimmy were spending the weekend in Atlanta with Beth’s sister when the turn happened. They tried to get home to their daddy’s farm in Senoia, 50 miles or so south of the city, but the roadblocks and the bombs and the walkers made it impossible. They were holed up in a department store when they heard the alarm from Glenn’s stolen car and figured it couldn’t hurt to catch a ride.

“Has anyone given any thought about what to say to Daryl Dixon? He’s not exactly going to be pleased to find out his brother was left behind,” Dale said, looking to Rick and Shane. Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“What’s he like?” Rick asked.

“Average. 20s. White trash, like his brother,” Shane replied.

“Talkin’ about him like he’s a suspect or something, Shane.”

“You haven’t met him, Rick. Word to the wise—we’re gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt,” Dale replied. If he was anything like his brother, Rick figured he was in for a long day.

Beth, Maggie, and Jimmy sat inside their tent, trying to get acclimated to their new temporary home. Maggie always managed to keep a confident air around her, like she knew exactly what she was doing at all times no matter the situation. Beth, on the other hand, was terrified. She had been since the turn. What was supposed to be a weekend with her sister had turned into an almost month-long fight for her life and, as selfish as it felt, seeing Rick reunited with his family had her feeling a little jealous; a little jealous, and very very sad.

“A man was left behind,” she said to no one in particular. Maggie looked up at her briefly before turning her attention back to setting up her sleeping bag. Jimmy had been asleep for almost an hour by that point, Beth swore he could sleep through anything—would’ve probably slept through the end of the world if they’d been back home. If Beth hadn’t insisted on looking for a prom dress at a store in Atlanta instead of in their little town. She blamed herself, a little.

“A man was left behind, and his brother will come back tomorrow and be alone… What if it was me? Or you?”

“It’s not. We’re safe for now, and we’re gonna get back to the farm and be even safer there,” Maggie replied sternly.

There was no time to mourn. They all had jobs to do; Beth’s was to keep it together long enough to get home.


	2. Anything

The next morning began rather uneventfully. They ate breakfast together, Beth offered to help Carol with laundry, and they could hear the kids playing together off a little way on the other side of the camp. Then, they could hear them screaming.

Maggie ran after Rick, Shane, and Dale with her baseball bat and watched the walker eat the deer. It ripped into the deer’s chest with its bare hands, pulling out enough guts, gore, and viscera to make Maggie decide the others could handle it and went to find Beth. They were standing together near the RV when the man with the bow and the squirrels tied to his belt came into camp.

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let’s stew ‘em up.”

“Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you.”

“’bout what?”

“’bout Merle. There was a—There was a problem in Atlanta.”

Maggie watched the man stop dead in his tracks, realizing he must be the brother of the man Beth was talking about the night before. She couldn’t help but feel for him, she didn’t know what she’d do if something happened to Beth, or even to Jimmy.

“He dead?”

“We’re not sure.”

“He either is or he ain’t!”

The first thing Beth noticed about the man, aside from the bow, the squirrels, and the distinctly north country accent, was the look of desperation on his face. The second thing she noticed was the large hunting knife he was ready to bury in Shane’s chest.

“Hell with all y’all! Just tell me where he is so’s I can go get him.” He wiped his eyes and stormed off in the direction of an old model pick up with something in the bed covered with a tarp. Despite the violent outburst, there was a part of Beth’s heart that ached a little bit for the man.

* * *

Daryl sat in the pickup’s cab and dug a lighter out of the glove box. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of any of those people and especially not when he could still hear Merle’s voice in his head calling him a pussy for it. For nearly a decade, since Daryl finally ran from their father’s house when he was 16, he’d spent most days with Merle. They lived together, went to bars together, occasionally they got arrested together; Merle lead the way and Daryl followed like a stray hoping if it hung around the house enough maybe it could come in, or at least get some scraps. Daryl had effectively raised himself, but Merle was the closest thing to a parent or a role model or at least an adult that he had. His only family outside of his piece of shit father and his mom who's been dead so long Daryl sometimes can’t tell if the face he remembers is actually hers, or if his memory is just inventing images to fill in the blanks.

Either way, he wanted his brother.

He buried Merle’s hand under an oak near the water at the bottom of the quarry. There weren’t any words spoken, they didn’t really do that kind of thing, but he hoped wherever Merle was that he knew Daryl gave enough of a shit to do something proper.

* * *

Daryl didn’t like the newbies much. The older of the girls looked at him like he was the devil since the incident with Amy and Andrea. The boy, Billy or Johnny or some other clean cut all American name Daryl couldn’t be bothered to remember, kept his arm wrapped so tight around the younger, blonde sister that Daryl couldn’t tell if he did it to comfort her, or because he was scared shitless himself.

The girl, Beth, caught his eye if only because her hair caught the sun when she moved—and because she was the only person in the group who didn’t look especially scared of him. She looked terrified of everything else, of course, but not of Daryl. She’d even offered him quiet condolences for his brother, which he accepted with a roll of his eyes and a scoff. It wasn’t like any of them actually cared, why bother pretending like Merle’s death mattered to anyone but him.

Beth watched Daryl chew on the side of his thumb while Rick and Shane spoke about the CDC. She didn’t want to go to the CDC, she wanted to go home; however, seeing as neither she nor Maggie or Jimmy had a car, their options were limited to staying in the quarry alone, or catching their second ride in as many weeks with the group. The choice was clear.

Daryl caught Beth looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Secretly, he’d been peeking over at her periodically while the Cops worked out their plan. He planned on hanging around, sticking with the group. Strength in number and all. Besides, without Merle, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go or anyone else to go there with anyway. _Going to the CDC is stupid,_ he thought, _ridiculous to believe that anyone could actually stop the virus_.

Regardless, he voted to go. Or, he voted for somewhere to go. A destination. A goal. _Something. Anything._

She watched him watch her walk to the church van with Maggie and Jimmy. He watched her watch him get into the pickup and will the old engine to life.

T-Dog maneuvered the van around all kinds of obstacles in the road following Rick in the Cherokee, Daryl’s truck, and leading the RV. He and Jimmy talked a little back and forth about a lot of nothing; mostly sports, like any of that mattered anymore. Maggie had the same serious look on her face she’d had for nearly a month at that point. Beth wondered if—when— Maggie’s solemn mask would break. Beth herself sat in the back of the van with enough room to lay most of the way back and look at the stains on the ceilings. She knew if she got too lost in thought she’d fall all the way down the rabbit hole and start talking to her knife like the guy in the movie she couldn’t remember the name of who started talking to his basketball or something because he was alone on an island. That was Beth, alone on her own little 3rd row seating island, ready to start talking to inanimate objects and trying her hardest to think about anything but home.

She wanted to break up with Jimmy, she decided. He didn’t do anything, but she wasn’t in love with him. She’d never been in love with him. It didn’t seem like a big deal before but now, at the end of the world, it seemed stupid to fill spaced just to fill them without it meaning anything. If its going to be the last thing you do, it should mean something; right? She was thinking about breaking up with him before the world ended, but she’d wanted a date to prom and told herself she’d wait to break it off until afterward. Maybe even until after they graduated, so she wouldn’t ruin his party. It was all so stupid, she thought, none of it meant anything.

Beth’s mind wandered back to the group:

Rick and Lori and Carl and their little family reunited.

Carol and Sophia fighting just as hard if not harder than everyone else to survive.

Glen, who Maggie seemed to take a liking to.

T-Dog who’s nearly impossible not to like.

Dale, Andrea, Jim, Jacqui, the Morales family, god willing, on their way to Birmingham.

Jim who’d be lucky to make it another mile let alone all the way to the CDC.

And Daryl. Beth figured he was around Maggie’s age, maybe a little older, kind of mean, really quiet. He seems like he’s off in his own world but pay attention long enough and you realize he sees pretty much everything that happens around him. Look closer and it's clear he’s just as anxious and scared as everyone else is. Beth didn’t understand why no one else saw that in him. Everyone else, including Maggie, thought he was dangerous. _He was dangerous_ , but Beth wasn’t convinced that made him a bad person-- not yet anyway. Didn’t mean she thought he was great either. Rarely are things ever so black and white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm imagining Daryl being like 23ish and Merle being in his late 30's maybe closer to Rick's age? I want to unpack some of their childhood stuff and give Merle more of a pseudo-parent role in Daryl's life (I have a couple of specific scenes already planned for later on) I feel like it makes more sense if they're both younger and the age gap between them is wider. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Maybe

It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her own heart in her ears; hard to see anything past the bright, white light washing over them like a wave at high tide and pulling them into the lobby of the Atlanta CDC. Beth clung to Maggie. Maggie clung to her knife. Jimmy, trying his damnedest to not look like a scared little kid, stood behind them, his gun raised and pointed at the man pointing a gun at them.

The following hours passed in a haze. An elevator ride that seemed to last forever, a blood draw that felt way worse than the “little pinch” she was promised, and an end of the world pasta dinner. A last supper. Even Maggie and Jimmy sipped a little wine, laughing along with the others at Carl and Glenn trying to stomach the taste. It was the happiest any of them had been since the turn; and yet, Beth couldn’t help but feel a sense of hesitation, like their dinner was the calm before that storm, like something bad _had_ to be on the horizon because no good night goes unpunished.

She looked up from her plate and around the room. She caught Glenn trying to sneak a peek at Maggie, Dale telling some story about a life unrecognizable today, and Daryl, drinking straight from the bottle holding onto it like it held the answers to all of life’s questions—or maybe it’d at least quiet the voice that asks them. Daryl’s eyes met hers for half a moment before immediately refocusing anywhere but, like he’d just seen something he wasn’t supposed to and was trying—and failing—to look as inconspicuous as possible. Beth saw him quickly glance over to her a few more times throughout dinner and she did the same, hoping to catch his eye and willing to keep their cat-and-mouse game up until she did.

It didn’t make sense; it didn’t mean anything, but maybe it did. Maybe it could. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

* * *

They’d never spoken before that night. Maggie and Jimmy were sound asleep in the office the three of them claimed for the night. Showered, a little drunk, and having eaten a real meal for the first time in days, sleep came easy for the rest of the group. But not for Beth. She knew it was stupid to leave the room alone but the sound of Maggie’s sleeping and the ceiling fan and the fact that she was sleeping on a real mattress—well, a cot, but close enough—made her miss home. When she closed her eyes, she saw her own bedroom, heard her own ceiling fan, smelled her mother’s cooking, and heard her father’s laugh. It was stupid to leave the room alone, but if she was going to start crying, she wasn’t especially interested in having an audience.

The hallway was long and dimly lit. Dr. Jenner said the part of the facility they were staying in was walker free, but she carried her knife anyway. Just in case. She scoffed at the fact that this new world required carrying a knife to walk down a hallway. The group had all agreed to sleep with doors open in case of emergency and, as she continued through the corridor, she could hear a few muffled conversations and a few whispered prayers. The end of the hall opened into what was, at one point, a common room with a kitchenette, a table and a few chairs, and 2 bookshelf-lined walls. Heading in the direction of the bookshelves, she noticed a figure leaning over in one of the chairs, elbows rested on knees and head dropped into hands.

Deciding it better to announce her presence than risk being mistaken for a walker, she offered a quiet “Hey,” to the chair. Daryl’s head shot up and he examined her in the dark, his gaze intense if a little unfocused on account of the alcohol. He remained silent.

“What are you doing?” she asked. No response.

“Are you okay?” she tried. No response.

“Daryl, are you o—”

“What do you want?” He asked curtly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, not quite answering his question. It wasn’t like he’d answered any of hers. He turned his gaze away from her and put his head back in his hands.

Beth walked over to the bookshelves and browsed for a moment, who knew when the next time she’d get a chance to find books would be and it wasn’t like the selection on the RV was all that extensive or even good for that matter. She picked a few, one she’d heard of but never had the chance to read and a couple she’d read and wouldn’t mind reading again. Nothing brings comfort in familiarity quite like rereading the same book you’ve read a million times. Sometimes it’s nice to know how things are going to end. She could tell Daryl was watching her as she picked her books out and carried them over the table he occupied, sitting in a chair opposite him and thumbing through her new book.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said after a while; not looking up from the page. They’d already spoken more in the last 15 minutes than they had in the entire time they’d been together with the group.

“Don’t.”

“I just mean, you must miss him. I’d miss Maggie.”

“You don’t know nothin’.”

“I know I miss my brother, and my momma and daddy. Maggie does too, even though she won’t say it.”

“He ain’t worth missin’,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t,” Beth thought for a second and put down her book. “He was a mean, vulgar, asshole, but he was still your brother. You’re allowed to miss him.”

He stayed silent. She looked up at him from the book and could see him still hunched over in the chair biting at his nails, a habit she found especially icky considering it was the end of the world and they were all up to their elbows in decay twenty-four-seven. Beth knew she should probably go back to bed before Maggie woke up to find her missing and then came out to find her talking to Daryl—who she was given explicit instructions to avoid—but she didn’t.

Instead, she asked, “Have you ever read this?”

Daryl looked at her almost incredulously, almost like he’d forgotten she was even there, and was not only shocked to realize that she was, but completely taken aback by the fact that she’d asked him a question at all. He didn’t say anything—not that she’d really expected him to-- only shook his head in the negative before reaching down to take a drink of the bottle that’d been sitting on the floor near his foot. Beth told him about the book, one she’d read probably 5 times and knew like the back of her hand. She explained the plot, told him about the characters, the things she loved, the things she hated; he didn’t look at her, but she could tell he was listening. She didn’t know why she was telling him all of this. Maybe it was because she needed to pretend things were normal for a little while; maybe because he was sitting alone in almost total darkness in the middle of the night and if she weren’t speaking to him, she’d be doing the same. Maybe it was because of whatever their little staring contest at dinner or had been. Maybe it hadn’t been anything. Maybe it could be something. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Whatever it was, it went on for over an hour and she felt better for it. Until Jimmy found them, that is.

“Beth? What are you doing out here?” He asked, sleep still evident in his voice. Jimmy wasn’t Beth’s first choice of person to be stuck with during the apocalypse. She liked him, he was nice to her, but, like her sister, Jimmy didn’t think she had what it took to make it in the new world. They walked around her like she was a fragile glass vase on a wobbly stand and any rush of air was bound to send her toppling to the floor to shatter into a million pieces. And yeah, maybe she wasn’t as strong as Maggie in some ways, but maybe she could be strong in others.

“We’re just talkin’, Jimmy,” she said. Jimmy crossed the room to her and reached out his hand.

“It’s late, c’mon.”

She rolled her eyes and started to gather her books, Daryl looked up at her as she stood and something in his face told her he was sad to see her go. Jimmy picked up her books, it all felt a little high school to her, a little too back to normal. Beth walked ahead of him back towards the office they were sharing with Maggie, Jimmy lingered for a moment, catching Daryl’s eye. From behind her, Beth could hear Jimmy, in the toughest most confident tone he could muster up, tell Daryl to _“stay away from Beth.”_ She could also hear Daryl tell Jimmy, to fuck off. And then Jimmy’s footsteps following behind her back down the corridor and back into reality. The reality where they’re sleeping on cots in the administration offices of the CDC building in Atlanta because the world ended and dead people are walking around and maybe maybe maybe.

* * *

For some reason, when she left the room it felt like someone turned off a light that hadn’t been on in the first place. The room felt darker without her in it. Like if she wasn’t the one bringing the light she was, at least, the thing that reflected it; amplified it. He figured it was probably just the alcohol making him sappy, but he found himself almost missing her presence when it was gone. He could’ve gone without her idiot boyfriend’s piss poor attempt at intimidation, however.

The truth was, he did miss Merle. A lot. Even though he was a bastard. Even though he was a mean, vulgar, asshole. Even though he wasn’t worth missing, Daryl still missed him. Missing Merle made him miss other things too. His own room, for one. It wasn’t much but it was his and it was quiet; he hadn’t expected the end of days to be so loud as it was. He missed his mom too. She’d been dead nearly 20 years by that point and in the 5 years he’d had her, he could only really remember a handful of times she’d even felt like a mother. But he still missed her sometimes, when he was drunk enough to be sad but not drunk enough to make it someone else’s problem.

He had to give Beth credit where credit was due, though. She saw right through him and it freaked him out a little bit. Her sister treated her like a little kid and her boyfriend treated her like a damsel in distress when, in reality, she was probably tougher than either of them—definitely tougher than that bean pole kid who, for whatever reason, got it in his head that he could scare him. Beth’s was the subtle kind of strength; that gritty courage of everyday life where she got up and lived every single day and was determined to do the same thing tomorrow. Her optimism pissed him off because he couldn’t share it. He couldn’t think about tomorrow when dead people were up walking around and trying to eat them today. Maybe she was even stronger than him. She was definitely stronger than him.

He lied about the book; he had read it. It was one of the few things he’d actually read when he’d been in school. He liked the way she told it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the feedback! I hope you like it and thanks for reading! xxx


	4. State Route 85

Maggie gripped Beth’s arm uncomfortably tight as the doctor explained to them that they would not, in fact, be leaving the CDC—they were standing in their own grave, attending their own funeral. Beth’s thoughts flashed to her parents; what would they think if their daughters never made it home? What if there was no ‘home’ to make it to anymore?

Then, she thought, _maybe it’s better this way_.

* * *

For a split second, after the CDC was blown to high hell, he almost wished he’d stayed. It was a fleeting thought, one that he’d had before and was no stranger too: that maybe it’d be better if it all just stopped. Then, the moment passed.

* * *

They were 35 miles or so outside of Atlanta when Daryl’s Chevy—which, despite his best efforts, had been on its last leg for years—finally gave out. Beth watched as Daryl and T Dog lifted the motorcycle down from the truck bed before siphoning the remaining gas out of the truck and the church van. Rick and Shane decided it’d be best if they condensed their caravan as much as possible; more cars meant more gas and there was only so much left to be found. She had no way of knowing for sure, but she liked to think it was nearing mid-summer because of the way the heat waves on the pavement looked like little oases in the interstate. What she wouldn’t have given for an oasis.

Beth decided that Daryl seemed different in the daytime-- different when people were around. The night before, when they talked about his brother and he’d listened to Beth tell him all about her favorite book, he’d looked at her half suspicious and half relieved; as if he was glad to have the company but was waiting for the catch. Now, in the light of day and around the group, he kept his features hard and unmoving as he and the others prepped the cars. He looked confident but in the same sort of all-for-show costume-y way that Maggie did. It was an act. She could tell it was an act, and it bothered her that they couldn’t just admit to being scared. Hell, she was terrified all the time. Every single person in their group had lost everything and, almost, everyone that ever mattered to them. All anyone had left were the little things that made them human— feelings, fears, hopes, and compassionate gestures in spite of everything else-- and she’d be damned if she was going to lock up her last little pieces of humanity and throw away the key.

Putting on his vest and getting onto the bike was the most “before” thing Daryl had done since the turn; it was the closest to normal he’d felt in weeks. The bike was Merle’s, the past tense stung, and it hurt a little bit that he’d have to leave his truck behind, but being back on a motorcycle on the open road sounded pretty sweet considering the overall fucked-up-ness of the last couple of days. He caught a blonde streak out of the corner of his eye as he adjusted the bike’s side bags. It wasn’t that he was seeking her out on purpose, he wasn’t scanning the crowd looking for her or making a point of knowing where she was, she just always seemed to catch his attention and he couldn’t help but notice her. Beth spent a lot of time occupying the two younger kids; Carl, whose parents were too busy trying to figure out their personal lives to parent, and Sophia. Daryl had a soft spot for Sophia and her mother. They were cut from the same cloth, had a lot of the same scars to prove it. Beth liked Sophia too, taking on the role of de facto big sister, and was, at that moment, sitting criss-cross on the floor behind her pulling her hair into a short braid. He watched Beth work the hair around her fingers with practiced ease, her own hair blowing slightly in the summer breeze, and felt his stomach knot a little when he realized that he was looking at the last beautiful thing at the end of the world.

He cringed at the thought, he could almost hear Merle’s voice in his head, _“Always the sweet one, baby brother.”_

Realizing he’d been starring and hoping to God she hadn’t realized it too; Daryl went on fiddling with the bike waiting for Rick and Shane to quit bickering about where to go and just lead them there already.

“You need to stay away from Beth,” a voice from behind him declared. He hadn’t heard anyone walk over and was surprised to see the older Greene sister standing there—jaw set, hands on hips, sizing him up like an opponent before a fight.

“’Scuse me?”

“Beth. You need to stay away from her. Jimmy told me he saw you talkin’ to her last night.”

“That righ’?”

“Just leave her be, Daryl. Alright?” She stood for a moment waiting for a response before realizing she wasn’t going to get one and walking away. Daryl shook his head. That was the second time in as many days he’d been threatened by someone this girl knew and he hadn’t even said 10 words to her.

* * *

Maggie finished loading their things into the RV and walked over to lean against the side panel next to where Beth sat on the asphalt, too lost in thought to hear her sister’s approach. She jumped a little when Maggie spoke.

“I talked to Rick an’ he said if the roads are clear enough that we could try and stop at the farm before goin’ on to Fort Benning.”

“Thank god,” Beth said, “I bet mama and daddy are losin’ their minds over us not bein’ there.”

“I didn’t realize I could miss getting’ woken up by roosters so much,” Maggie laughed, lowering herself to the ground next to Beth.

“I talked to Daryl too,” she continued, half cautious.

“About what?”

“You. Jimmy told me he found you talking to him in the middle of the night.”

Beth looked at Maggie incredulously, “Am I not allowed to talk to people now?”

“Not people, just him. I don’t trust him, Bethy. I don’t want you alone with him.”

“You know I’m not a child, right?” Beth scoffed.

“Beth,” Maggie shot her a glance that dared Beth to defy her.

Maggie did have good intentions; Beth knew that. Maggie only wanted to keep her safe, but she couldn’t treat her like a baby forever and she hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Daryl. In fact, Daryl hadn’t done much of anything except listen to her talk and look despondent. Nevertheless, Beth sighed and nodded her head, hoping to avoid any further confrontation. The whole end of days thing seemed like something that would run a lot smoother with everyone getting along.

* * *

Maggie, Jimmy, and Glenn sat around the RV table trying to distract themselves with card games and stories from before. Beth took the front seat next to Dale, content to listen to him ramble on about his wife, their travels, and any other topic as long as it wasn’t based in their current reality. He reminded her of her father in some ways. In front of them, the open road stretched on and on. They were headed the wrong way down the highway out of the city, the oncoming lanes completely devoid of vehicles in stark contrast to the lanes leading out of the city full of abandoned cars bumper to bumper. Beth said a little prayer for each of their occupants as they passed and watched the angel wings on Daryl’s vest weave in and out of the lane in front of them.

They were on an odd stretch of some state route that Beth didn’t quite recognize when the RV finally gave out. Even if the RV hadn’t bought the farm in the middle of the road, their journey would’ve been delayed by the massive pileup just ahead of them. Lori said it looked like a graveyard and Beth couldn’t help but disagree. Graveyards are holy and wholly alive with memories and empathy and the kind of love that lives past death. They weren’t looking at a graveyard, they were standing in a desert—empty, desolate, dead. The thought struck her as odd, she couldn’t remember when it was that she’d become so morbid. Or maybe it wasn’t morbid. There’s something to be said about being one of the few things left alive in a desert; something hopeful. Beth held on tight to that hope as she hid underneath a sedan watching more walkers than she’d ever seen before shuffle past. Even tighter when Sophia ran off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To tie up some loose ends before the next chapter:  
> -Carl gets shot  
> -Patricia comes to get Lori and take her to the farm  
> -Maggie and Jimmy take Glenn and T-Dog to the farm  
> -Beth stays behind with Daryl, Carol, Andrea, and Dale  
> The next chapter (chapter 5) will start with Daryl going to look for Sophia that night and Beth will go with him instead of Andrea.  
> I said slow burn and I meant it. Once they get to the farm in the next chapter things will get a lot more interesting. More than anything, though, I just really want Beth to have that kind of strength that we see from her in season 4; I hope that's coming through here. 
> 
> **I'm having fun writing this and I plan to keep it going until I get sick of it. When final exams are over next week I'll be able to update more regularly and the chapters will get longer. I promise this is the last chapter of setup! Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you like it!! xxx


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be an actual chapter with a real plot-- I pinky swear-- but writing plot takes me a long time, so here's a short interlude between the highway and the farm. Beth and Daryl head out into the woods to look for Sophia. Next chapter we get to the farm, I promise there will be plot instead of just pining and conversation (unless pining and conversation are preferred because that can be arranged). I've been alternating perspectives in the chapter, but it doesn't always work that way so this one is Daryl heavy and the next one will be Beth-centric.

Between the crying and the gun parts clacking against each other, Daryl couldn’t decide who he wanted to kill more: Carol, Andrea, or himself. He laid on the RV floor looking up at the discolored ceiling using one of his arms as a pillow and chewing on the nails of his other hand. He was on edge, they all were. Sophia was missing, Carl was shot, T was sick—the day they’d had made Murphy’s Law look like a misdemeanor. In the morning, when the sun was high enough to see danger coming before it arrived, Beth was supposed to guide the RV back down the highway, down the country road turn off, and over to her family’s farm. Sunrise could not come soon enough.

He’d guess that Andrea’d taken her gun apart and pieced it back together at least 5 times in the previous 20 minutes. _Next time,_ he thought, _I’m gonna take it and shoot her and then myself._ Carol hadn’t stopped crying since they’d hunkered down in the RV for the night. He couldn’t blame her; any decent parent would be panicked about losing their kid in a grocery store let alone on an unfamiliar stretch of woods at the end of the world. Daryl wanted to find Sophia. Had to. She and Carol were finally away from Ed, they were with people who cared about them and would never hurt them. Sophia finally had a chance to be a kid, as much of a kid as you could be in the new world, and then she disappeared. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair to either of them. She deserved better and Daryl was determined to make sure that she got it.

When Andrea began disassembling her gun again, however, he’d had enough. Daryl stood, shouldering his crossbow and tucking his gun into the waist of his pants.

“I’m gonna walk the road. Look for the girl,” he took a last, quick look at Carol, sobbing in the back of the RV, and started out the door. She reminded him too much of his own mother, crying in bed like that. He decided that wasn’t worth thinking about and shoved that thought into the back of his mind to be dealt with later. Or not at all. Probably the latter. Dale looked down at him from his perch as he stepped out into the night.

“Gonna take a walk, shine some light in the woods. Give her somethin’ to look at,” he said, turning on his flashlight. As he turned to leave a second light clicked on and Beth came into view, cowgirl boots creaking on the plastic RV steps.

“Wait, I’m comin’ with you,” she said.

Daryl hesitated, not because he especially minded if she came along, but because Maggie was nearing the bottom of the list of things he wanted to deal with. It’d been enough of a battle getting Maggie to let Beth stay behind with them in the RV in the first place; letting her out of the RV to traipse through the woods with Daryl, who’d already made Maggie’s shit-list three times over, would be a declaration of war. But Daryl was in a bad enough mood as it were and arguing with Beth—who, based on what he’d already seen of her, would absolutely put up a fight if he told her no—just didn’t seem worth the energy. So, he nodded and started toward the tree line with Beth on his heels, a pace or two behind.

* * *

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the woods; to the leaves rustling in the breeze and the twigs snapping under their feet. So far, they hadn’t come across any walkers and, if not for the knowledge that at any moment they might have to have for their lives and the void left by Sophia, Beth could almost imagine it was a normal night back in the normal world.

“Do you think we’re gonna find her?” Beth asked suddenly.

“You don’t?”

“I do. No one else does.”

“I know. They all got the same look on their face like they’re already so sure she’s gone. This ain’t the mountains of Tibet, this is Georgia. She’s probably just hidin’ somewhere. In some farmhouse or somethin’.” Daryl replied

“She must be terrified. I got lost at the county fair once when I was 10. I sobbed until my mama found me,” Beth paused, sweeping her flashlight across the ground in front of them and looking off into the distance. “I can’t even imagine how scared she must be…”

“I got lost in the woods when I’s a kid. Found my way home, no worse for wear.”

“Your parents found you?”

“Nah, old man was off on a bender with some waitress; Merle wasn’t around. Spent nine days in the woods eatin’ berries, wipin’ my ass with poison oak ‘til I found my way home.” He wasn’t sure why he told her that. He didn’t make a habit of talking about his childhood, especially not with people he didn’t know well. But Beth laughed, and Daryl laughed too.

“I’m sorry,” she said between giggling fits, “I shouldn’t laugh, that’s a horrible story.”

“S’alright, I’ll get you back for it later,” he said and smirked before turning his gaze away from her, suddenly uncomfortable with the personal direction their conversation had taken.

* * *

“You’re from up north, right?” Beth asked. He shot her a questioning look. “You drop all your g’s and you know how to track, you’re definitely not from the city,” she said teasing.

“Whatever,” Daryl scoffed, “I’m from Gilmer county.”

“But you weren’t there when _it_ started?”

“Me and Merle were in Macon. We tried to get back, figured it’d be safer in the mountains away from all the people. Then the bombs dropped on Atlanta and there weren't nothing we could do after that. We found everyone at the quarry a coupla days later.”

“Glenn found us in Atlanta; me, Maggie, and Jimmy. Maggie had an apartment there, we were stayin' with her over the weekend. Everythin’ fell apart so fast in the city and there wasn’t any way for us to get home.”

“How come you were there instead of at your farm?”

“I was shopping for my prom dress.”

“Prom dress?” Daryl laughed.

“Hey! Don’t laugh! Senior prom is a big deal! Or it woulda been, I guess… It’s crazy how fast everythin’ can change…”

“Yeah. Well, sorry about your prom, Miss Priss,” he said.

“Be nice!” she replied, shoving him lightly.

* * *

“Did you get one?” he asked after a moment had passed.

“What?”

“A dress. Did you get one? Before everythin’ went to hell.”

“Yeah, actually, I did. It’s on the RV with the rest of my stuff,” she grinned.

“You’re carryin’ around a prom dress at the end of the world?”

“No reason to waste a perfectly good dress. Besides, it’s the last thing I ever bought; I feel like that means somethin’. I figured if it’s safe I’ll wear it on my birthday, and if not, we can cut it up for kindling or—” Daryl stopped walking so abruptly that Beth nearly collided with him.

“Shhh… Hear that?” Daryl whispered.

She didn’t hear anything at first and, by the time she did, Daryl had already started in the direction of the noise. Beth followed him closely, the last thing they needed was a second person lost out in the woods. Rounding a large oak tree, Beth found herself at eye level with the legs of a half-eaten, half-rotted, dangling, hanged walker. She covered her mouth with her hands and tried to suppress a scream.

“Poor bastard didn’t know enough to shoot himself in the head. At least it ain’t her…” Daryl said, looking up at the man hanging in front of them. Beth stood frozen in place, eyes wide and staring at the walker. She’d seen a lot in the last month, but that? Nothing compared to that.

“Kill it…” she muttered.

“I can’t, no way to get my bolt back. He ain’t hurtin’ anybody anyway.”

“Daryl, kill it.”

“Why? It doesn’t matter. He made his choice. Did like Jenner said, opted out.”

The part of her brain that looked at situations logically and rationally knew that Daryl was right, he shouldn’t waste an arrow. She knew that. She knew she shouldn’t be yelling. She knew she could bring walkers down on them. She knew that, and she didn’t care. “It does matter! He’s suffering, Daryl! All he wanted was for it to be over and now he can’t even have that! Kill it!” 

“I thought about it, you know,” she said, voice dropping to almost a whisper, “about stayin’ at the CDC.”

Daryl didn’t speak. Beth’s confession stunned him into silence—not that he’d know what to say if he could make the words come out anyway. He’d thought about it too. Of course he did, how could he not? But the stubborn, bull-headed, persistent-little-fuck part of him couldn’t let himself dwell on it. He had to keep moving, he _couldn’t_ care. Not like she did.

“I'm glad that I didn't. I just—I thought maybe it’d be better that way…”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But maybe not.”

Daryl raised his bow and Beth closed her eyes tightly, hearing the arrow loose and find purchase. They stayed like that for a moment; the only fixed points in a world spinning completely out of control. Beth opened her eyes and looked back at the dead man in the tree—his eyes were closed. 

“We should go,” she said, finally. 

“C’mon then, prom queen.” They fell into an easy silence as they made their way back to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl 100% has heart eyes for Beth, he just doesn't know it yet. And Beth feels something like a tender curiosity towards Daryl, but he'll grow on her. 
> 
> I really appreciate all the comments and any feedback (or ideas/suggestions) is totally welcome!! I'm glad people actually like this because it's really fun for me to write! Thanks for reading xxx


	6. Greene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finally makes it to the Greene Family Farm, but the hits just keep coming;  
> Or,  
> Beth Greene grieves for her mother and brother: a concept I think is really important despite it being largely ignored in the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter update: This chapter and the following one take place over the same day, this one is all Beth and the next is Daryl perspective

When you’re a child, you never think about the fact that one day your parents won’t be around anymore— they’re so big and strong and larger than life, there’s no way that they _won’t_ live forever. Coming around the final turn and watching the farmhouse come into view on the horizon, the rising sun turning the white siding orange, the possibility never even crossed her mind. She didn’t realize how much she truly missed home until she was back. The pasture, the fields, the barn, all of the sights and sounds were exactly the same as when she’d left them. It looked untouched, unviolated, the last safe place in a dangerous world. She teared up at the thought. She made it; she was going to make it. They all were.

But Bethany Greene was not a child, and her mother did not live forever.

She was out the door, down the steps, and running towards the farmhouse before Dale even had the parking brake on. Maggie, Jimmy, and her father, Hershel Greene, were waiting for her near the front porch like a soldier returning home or a sailor back from sea. She could hear them, see them smiling through their tears and hers. Reaching her father, she clung to him like a life raft on the open ocean. He smelled like home, the air around her smelled like home and it nearly brought her to her knees. Hershel hugged Beth tightly to his chest with one arm around her and the other around Maggie. For a moment, it was perfect.

Beth took half a step back and dried her eyes on her sleeves, looking up at her father and then around at the scene.

“Where’s mama and Shawn?” she said, clearing her throat. Her voice was still thick with tears and wavered slightly as, from out of nowhere, she got a sick feeling in the middle of her chest. “Are they inside?”

Maggie sniffled and turned her head away, wiping at her tears. Hershel took both of Beth’s hands in his own and stroked her knuckles softly with his thumbs. He looked past her, then up to the sky, and then in her eyes.

“Bethy…” he said. She could see the tears building up behind his eyes like floodwaters against a levee ready to burst but determined to hold strong. He looked exhausted. Vulnerable. She’d never seen her father look vulnerable before—angry, sad, frustrated, but never vulnerable.

“Wh—Where are they.?”

“We couldn’t bury them,” his eyes never left hers, his hands held hers tightly.

“Oh.”

“I am so sorry, doodlebug,” Hershel pulled her back into his embrace. She couldn’t speak, she only nodded and let herself be led up the porch steps, past her mother’s rocking chair, and into the house. It felt emptier than she remembered, almost cavernous. Beth felt her heart pounding hard and fast in her chest. She thought if she listened close enough, she’d be able to hear her own heartbeat echoing through the rooms; it was a wonder neither her father nor Maggie could hear it, it was the _only_ thing she could hear.

He sat Beth at the kitchen table and let Patricia wrap her in her arms. Maggie took over for Hershel, taking Beth’s hand and wiping away tears Beth hadn’t noticed she was crying. She felt sick but hadn’t eaten enough in the previous three days to have anything to throw up.

“I need to check in on the boy, get things situated outside,” Hershel placed a hand on each of his daughters’ shoulders. “Watch after them?” he said, looking over to Patricia who nodded in agreement. Hershel took a last look at his girls, nodded at Jimmy, and was off to do what he’d always done—take care of things.

* * *

Hershel walked out onto the porch and considered the scene in front of him. At least a dozen people—strangers—a couple of cars, an RV, a young boy laid up in the downstairs bedroom, and his own grieving daughters huddled at the kitchen table. Rick seemed like a good enough man, he would have done anything for his son and Hershel could respect that, and his wife seemed decent as well; but the rest of these people? As grateful as he was that they’d looked out for his girls, more people meant issues meant an increased likelihood of things falling apart. There was a sick boy and a missing girl and from what Maggie already explained to him, these people had taken the I85 all the way through hell and back up Hershel’s own driveway. So, for the time being, he’d let them stay. It was the Christian thing to do.

“Rick, may I speak with you for a moment?” He asked, coming down off the porch to where the group stood gathered. Rick nodded and approached Hershel.

“You and your people are welcome to set up camp under those trees there. I’d request that you stay out of the pasture or barnyard, we haven’t had an issue with those _things_ coming in too close to the fields, so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Understood. This is your land and we _will—”_ Rick turned to look at the rest of the group “—respect your wishes.”

“The barn is strictly off-limits, and so are _my daughters_ ,” Hershel added, eyes scanning over the men in the group who looked around nervously, hoping they could pretend they couldn’t begin to know what he was talking about. “I am eternally grateful to you and yours for looking out for my girls and, for that reason, I’m allowing you to stay. Please don’t put me in a position to have to rethink that decision.”

* * *

Inside, Beth was trying her hardest to remember what the last conversation she’d had with her mother was about and if, at the end of it, she’d gotten to say _I love you._ Jimmy and Beth got to Atlanta on a Friday afternoon and by Sunday night, all hell broke loose. She talked to her mom that night, told her that they were holed up in Maggie’s apartment, that they were safe, that they’d be home soon—that was weeks ago—and she couldn’t for the life of her remember if she told her that she loves her. Loved her. Loves her. Present tense.

Maggie left her in the living room to go and make tea in the kitchen. Jimmy came in, sat next to her on the couch, and tried to put his arm around her but she’d shrugged him off. It probably wasn’t fair to him, she thought, he’d likely lost just as much as she had. Still, the thought of him touching her, of anyone touching her, made her skin crawl. She didn’t want to be comforted, she didn’t want someone to make her feel better, she didn’t want to “ _feel better;”_ she wanted her mother’s humming and her brother yelling at the Falcons and her sister on the phone with some boy and her father flipping through the newspaper.

Guilty. That’s how she felt. Guilty—for going to Atlanta, for not being at the farm when they needed her, for not being able to help them, for not being there to bury them, for being alive when they weren’t.

The whistling of the tea kettle on the stove was sharp enough to penetrate her haze for a moment, bringing her back to reality. She stood so quickly it startled Jimmy who, despite her rebuff, was sitting at the opposite end of the couch looking at her a little curious and a little concerned. Beth didn’t look at him, or anywhere, only stared dead ahead at the family photo on the fireplace mantle. Calmly, she turned and walked the stairs to the second floor, into her room, locking the door behind her and laying in her bed.

Beth thought about the hanged man from the previous night; how all he’d wanted was peace in death and he couldn’t even have that. She didn’t know how Shawn and their mother died but she prayed to whatever merciful god she hoped was out there that they’d found more peace than that man.

* * *

It was dark out when she woke. From her bed she could see an orange glow against her windowpane—from the group’s fire in the yard, she assumed. Her head was pounding, and she was starving. Quietly, she rolled over and placed her feet onto the floor. Looking down, she realized she hadn’t taken off her boots before crawling into bed. Force of habit—you never knew when you’d have to run. She stood and it took a moment to steady herself enough to put one foot in front of the other and take a step. Then another. Then another. Down the stairs, into the living room, and through the doorway into the kitchen.

Maggie sat at the kitchen table with Patricia, crying into a cup of coffee. It seemed like all anyone ever did anymore was mourn. They looked up as they heard Beth enter the room.

“Hi, Bethy. Are you okay? Are you hungry?” Maggie tried to smile, but it just made her look even sadder. Her brave face was on its last leg. Beth nodded and returned a smile just as miserable as hers.

“Come sit down, I’ll fix you somethin’ to eat. Okay?” She stood and took Beth’s hand, guiding her over to the seat she’d just vacated. Beth sat and reached her own hands out to Patricia; the blind leading the blind through the grieving process.

In the middle of the table, a handful of white flowers sat in a Coke bottle vase. Beth reached out and let her fingers gently brush the petals; they were so soft.

“Cherokee roses,” Patricia responded to a question Beth hadn’t asked yet. “My grandmother used to grow them in her yard… We went to check on the little boy and his parents and, when we came back, they were on the table.”

Beth looked up at her, “You don’t know who put them here?”

“Nope,” Maggie said, placing a plate in front of Beth, “Not a clue. They’re real pretty though, huh?”

“Yeah, they are…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (6) and the one that follows (7) were originally going to be one long chapter; however, I had trouble figuring out how to format it in a way that makes it clear where in time everything is happening. So, 2 shorter chapters it is. 
> 
> The following chapter *begins* from a Daryl-centered perspective when Hershel goes outside to meet the group. The two chapters run concurrently. I hope that makes sense, plz tell me if it doesn't so I can format it better. 
> 
> Hope you like it so far!! Comments/feedback/suggestions/general impressions are always welcome! Thanks for reading! xxx


	7. Cherokee Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's perspective; picks up when Hershel goes outside to meet the group in the previous chapter. Following the Cherokee Rose episode pretty closely.

The look Hershel flashed him made Daryl’s blood boil. Its not like he wasn’t used to being looked at that way and it wasn’t like they didn’t have bigger fish to fry at that particular juncture, but the holier/cleaner/richer-than-thou glare that this guy was giving him pissed him off. Even at the end of the world, there was always some uppity prick around to think he was better than everybody else. There were dead people up walking around, if death was truly the great equalizer then the playing field should have been pretty god damn level.

He was _speaking_ to Rick, but Hershel’s words were clearly directed towards all of them.

 _“I’m allowing you to stay. Please don’t put me in a position to have to rethink that.”_ The group all nodded in agreement and understanding.

Daryl was starting to see the family resemblance—they were all a hell of a lot tougher than they looked. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. The Greene family reunion had been two heads short and not nearly as joyous an occasion as it should have been for a family as Brady Bunch as theirs. They’d lost people; and, since Beth had mentioned having a brother and considering he couldn’t imagine any decent mother being voluntarily absent from her daughter’s triumphant return, he had a pretty good idea who. With that in mind, Daryl was willing to excuse the contempt on Hershel’s face—for the time being, anyway.

* * *

He went to work setting up his tent in their new camp beneath the oaks out in front of the farmhouse. The sooner he set camp, the sooner he could leave it. He wanted to get back out there, walk the woods. He wanted to look for Sophia, of course, but the simple fact of the matter was he felt more comfortable in the woods than he ever would around any of those people. They didn’t trust him yet, not fully. Not that he blamed them. He was still asshole Merle’s asshole kid brother, and it wasn’t like Daryl “Cagey” Dixon was especially keen on trusting anyone _before_ and he certainly wasn’t going to use the apocalypse as the time to reevaluate that stance.

“Son, you alright?” Daryl hadn’t even realized he spaced out looking at the barn in the adjoining field until he heard Dale call out from over his shoulder.

“Ain’t your son...” Daryl mumbled almost inaudibly. He turned to Dale and asked, “You got maps righ’?”

“Only state, not county. Why don’t you go ask Hershel or Maggie?”

Daryl grunted a reply, picked up his bow, and started towards the house, hoping he’d run into someone along the way he could get to ask for him. He was halfway up the porch when Maggie stepped out of the front and they nearly collided with each other.

“Shit sorry,” he muttered.

“It's fine. Do you need somethin'?” She asked

“You got county maps? The survey kind that show the eleva—”

“I know what a survey map is. I’ll bring them out to the camp, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He took a better look at her, now. She looked about as exhausted as she sounded. He figured they must be going through hell. It made him think about Beth, he’d been trying not to think about her. Maggie turned from him and opened the front door again, he stopped her before she could close it.

“Hey. Maggie.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He _was_ sorry. He knew how shitty it felt, losing your mother, your brother, the people you actually really care about. The world was bad enough as it is without it continuously chewing you up and spitting you out. 

Her eyes met his for a moment, she gave half a smile and said, “Thanks, Daryl,” shutting the door behind her.

* * *

They huddled around the map laid out on the Cherokee’s hood.

“This is perfect,” Rick said, tracing his finger over the map. “We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams.”

“Not you. Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out. And you--” Hershel gestured at Shane “—Your ankle? Push it now, you'll be laid up a month, no good to anybody.

“Guess it's just me. I'm gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there,” Daryl said. He pointed out the creek Rick left Sophia in on the map.

Shane added, “I can still be useful. I'll drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back.”

Daryl let the rest of them work out the odds and ends of farm life. Something about Maggie and Glenn making a run, the water situation, and giving up their guns— a demand he was a little bit shocked, but not surprised, to hear Rick concede to.

He was halfway across the yard when Rick caught up to him. “Daryl! You okay on your own?”

“I'm better on my own. I'll be back before dark,” he’d only taken another half step towards the woods when Rick got his attention again.

“Hey. We got a base. We can get this search properly organized now.”

“You got a point or are we just chattin’?”

“My point is it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything.”

“Yeah, well. My other plans sorta fell through,” he started towards the woods again and didn’t look back. Between Hershel’s looks, Rick talking down to him like he’s a child, and the generally piss poor attitude of the day, Daryl was looking forward to some time by himself. He knew he didn’t owe them anything, he wasn’t doing it for them. He was doing it for her—for Sophia, because she deserved to be found. And for Merle; because he’d never found him. And maybe he was even doing it for himself, since no one ever looked for _him_.

* * *

A few hours later, the sun high in the sky, he hadn’t found Sophia; however, he had found an old farm-house out in the middle of nowhere with a recently occupied pantry. He left the house and yelled her name into the woods, hoping she was near enough to hear it. There were no prints to track, no trail to follow, and only had a couple of hours of daylight left.

He didn’t want to lease any mental real estate out to the bullshit Shane’d been saying—

 _“I hate to be the one to ask,”_ No he doesn’t.

 _“But somebody's got to.”_ No, they don’t.

 _“What happens if we find her and she's bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that.”_ Prick.

—but there was a little sliver of him, the negative, pessimistic, glass-half-empty part of him, that worried maybe Shane could be right. He’d never admit that, of course. Someone had to believe that little girl was alive. He believed that little girl was alive.

* * *

Daryl remembered the flowers from a story his mom told him when he was little about grieving mothers and the gift of hope. He didn’t get it as a kid; but now, looking back on it, he understood that his mother was carrying enough grief to grow a garden on her own.

He picked a rose for Carol and silenced that voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like his brother calling him _soft_ while he took a few more for Beth and Maggie. 

* * *

He found Carol in the RV when he got back.

“I cleaned up. Wanted it to be nice for her,” she said, forcing a smile.

“For a second I thought I was in the wrong place.” He put the flower—which he’d put in an empty beer bottle with the label ripped off, he wasn’t completely uncouth—on the counter and glanced nervously at Carol and then around the room.

“A flower?” She asked, a little confused but mostly plain curious.

“It's a cherokee rose. The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the trail of tears the Cherokee mothers were grieving and crying so much 'cause they were losing their little ones along the way from exposure and disease and starvation.” He leaned against the counter, a little less uncomfortable than when he started.

He continued, “A lot of them just disappeared. So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, give them strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell.”

Carol sat in the booth table, looking up at him.

Daryl cleared his throat, “I'm not fool enough to think there's any flowers blooming for my brother. But I believe this one bloomed for your little girl.”

  
She was smiling, a little laugh escaping, but he could still see the tears struggling not to fill her eyes. He held the bottle out to her and she took it, smelling the flower before putting it on the RV table. He hadn’t brought back Sophia, but at least he could bring Carol a little bit of peace.

“She’s really gonna like it in here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl gets to be the good guy who sneaks into the Greene house to leave flowers for the girls in these chapters because he and Jimmy are getting into a fistfight next time! And because Daryl Dixon has big, awkward heart eyes for Bethany Greene!
> 
> Thanks for reading! xxx


	8. Walk

It rained their third day on the farm—a summer shower complete with heat lightning and enough rain to warrant packing the tents up in the RV and waiting it out in the Greene living room. Typical Georgia; clear skies and hotter than hell one day and the heavens opening up the next. Rick made the decision to put the search for Sophia on hold for the day, he figured it’d just be too dangerous as hard as it was raining. “Getting someone else lost or hurt in the woods during a storm wouldn’t do anyone any good,” he said, countering Daryl’s protests.

Daryl didn’t fight Rick further about staying on the farm for the day, but he wasn’t about to sit inside playing cards all day. Besides, things on the farm were supposed to stay PG and the only card games he knew were poker and blackjack and he wasn’t particularly good at either. Instead, he opted to keep watch—read: pace—out front. He’d walked up and down the length of the wrap around porch nearly two dozen times when Beth stepped out of the house, sat down on the porch swing, and waited for him to make his way back towards her.

“It’s only been a few hours and you already look like you’re plannin’ an escape,” she said as he neared her spot. He leaned his elbows against the railing across from her and looked out onto the yard. The space under the oaks where the group set camp was largely untouched by the rain. His bike sat under a blue tarp held down with rocks. Lightning flashed like a flickering neon sign in the distance and the reflection of the clouds in the puddles made it look like little pieces of the sky fell to the ground and were dotting the driveway. It _was_ a beautiful day, despite the rain. Beth stood from the swing and moved to lean against the railing next to him. Her hair was down and blew against her shoulders in the breeze.

“I get it,” she said, “I think if I have to spend another minute in that house, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“You on house arrest too?”

Beth scoffed, “Daddy doesn’t want me out, he thinks it’s _too dangerous_. I know he just wants to protect me, and I know he’s freaked out because of mama and Shawn but I was out there with y’all for over a month. It’s a little late for that, you know?”

Daryl nodded in response, looking at her from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the falling rain.

“Maggie gets to go on a run with Glenn and I’m locked up here like a princess in a tower.” She scuffed her boot against the wood on the porch and sighed, “Take a walk with me?”

“Thought you ain’t supposed to leave the tower?”

“I’m taking a walk with or without you, Dixon, but I know you’re just as stir crazy as I am or you wouldn’t be pacing a rut in my porch,” she said, straightening up with her arms crossed at her chest. Daryl huffed a laugh as she picked up an umbrella and her knife from the swing—she must’ve brought it out with her knowing she’d need it—and walked off the porch. He shouldered his bow and followed.

* * *

The rain seemed to be letting up, for the time being. It must’ve been late afternoon, the way the sun peeked up from behind the clouds just enough to give everything a soft glow. It felt cleaner outside; as if some of the horror of the last two months had been scrubbed away and, while the stains weren’t completely removed, the world was at least recognizable again. They walked the fence line in companionable silence until Beth finally spoke.

“I used to ride my horse all the way down that trail to this little pond,” pointing at a dirt trail where the tree line broke in the distance. “Sometimes Shawn and Maggie would come too, me and Maggie would go swimmin’ and Shawn would try to fish, but he wasn’t very good,” she laughed.

“Sorry, about your brother and your mom,” Daryl said.

“Thanks… It’s just so weird, I keep expecting I’ll walk in the kitchen and mama will be cookin’ somethin’ or talkin’ on the phone to one of the ladies from church. Or maybe Shawn will come runnin’ down the stairs and daddy will yell at him for runnin’ in the house, but he’s not there. I’m glad I wasn’t there when they…” Beth stopped walking and turned to look at Daryl,

“Is that bad of me? Does that make me a bad person?” She asked more to herself than to Daryl.

“No, it makes you a person.”

The rain slowed to a drizzle. Beth closed the umbrella and turned to continue walking on along the fence, content to leave that particular train of thought on the track behind them.

“I hope Sophia’s okay. It’s been almost a week and with the rain…We haven’t found her yet...”

“Not yet,” he said

“But you’re gonna keep lookin’?”

“I’m goin’ out again tomorrow.”

“You still think we’re gonna find her?”

“Yeah, got to.” 

“I—"

“Beth!!” A voice in the distance called out. She rolled her eyes and sighed,

“C’mon, we better get back before they send out a search party. Then they’d really lock me in my room and throw the key out.”

* * *

The front door flew open as they approached the house; Maggie ran down the steps with Hershel and a few of the others close behind.

“Where the hell were you?” Maggie demanded, “I went up to check on you and your room was empty!”

“I’m fine, Maggie. I just went for a walk,” Beth replied, letting herself be embraced by her sister. She watched trouble brew over Maggie’s shoulder.

Jimmy stomped across the yard, shoved Daryl hard in the chest, and said, “I thought I told you to stay away from her?!”

“You wanna get the fuck outta my face, farm boy,” Daryl sneered.

“I told you at the CDC to leave her alone.”

“And I told you to fuck off.”

“Jimmy leave him be!” Beth shouted.

“Why don’t you take your bow and your piece of shit brother’s motorcycle and go back to whatever backwoods hole you crawled out of,” Jimmy took another step towards Daryl, who promptly put out his arms and shoved him even harder than he’d been shoved. Why Jimmy thought it’d be a bright idea to pick a fight with the same guy who’d pulled a knife on Rick, went after Jenner with an ax, and clearly didn’t like him was beyond Beth’s ability to comprehend.

Jimmy hesitated for half a second before his fist came up and connected with the side of Daryl’s head. After that, it was over.

Daryl immediately dropped his bow and brought his own fist around, punching Jimmy hard in the jaw. Reeling from the hit, Jimmy grabbed onto Daryl’s shirt and brought them both to the ground. Fists flew. Daryl tasted blood in his mouth. Around them, the group yelled frantically trying to break up the fight; Beth’s voice the only one that really cut through the noise.

Jimmy had a solid right hook but Daryl had experience on his side and very quickly gained the upper hand. Pinning him to the ground, Daryl hit Jimmy twice in the ribs. Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he threw the hand off. Suddenly, he was being dragged up from the ground and away from Jimmy, Rick on one side of him and T-Dog on the other. Andrea, Dale, and Hershel tended to Jimmy as Beth freed herself from the death grip Maggie’d had on her.

“What is wrong with you??” Beth snapped at Jimmy, still sitting on the ground waiting for the world to quit spinning so fast. “And you!” She turned towards Daryl, catching his eyes for only a second before he looked away and she stormed off into the house. Hershel and Maggie pulled Jimmy to his feet and followed close behind her.

* * *

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?” Rick demanded.

“Asshole came after _me_ , why don’t you go ask him?!”

“Okay. Fine. What’s going on with you and Beth?”

“Nothin’.” Daryl spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

“Nothin’?”

“Yeah, nothin’!”

“Well whatever is or isn’t goin’ on, it needs to end—now.” Rick sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry, but we got a good thing goin’ here, Daryl. We can’t risk losin’ it; not with Carl still hurt and Sophia still missing. Alright?”

“Can I go, Officer?” Daryl didn’t wait for a reply before starting towards the RV.

* * *

If getting back on a motorcycle for the first time reminded him of the best parts of _before_ , looking at his bloodied face in the dirty RV bathroom mirror reminded him of the worst. He’d gotten a split lip and a headache for his trouble, but he was no worse for wear. _You keep actin’ like me, lil’ brother, and they won’t be able to tell who’s who no more_ , he heard Merle’s voice in the back of his head bark with laughter. As much as it pained him, he had a point; getting into a fight with the over-eager boyfriend of one of Hershel’s daughters in the front yard only proved them right.

Carefully, he wiped away the blood with a bandana and rinsed his mouth out with water. Carol and Dale were waiting for him at the table when he stepped out of the bathroom. He groaned, completely uninterested in participating in whatever conversation they were hoping to have. Carol stood and reached out to touch the bruise forming on Daryl’s forehead. He flinched—harder than he cared to admit—and Carol withdrew her hand quickly like she’d touched something hot.

“Daryl, are you alright?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, biting at the inside of his cheek. He was still pissed off, still feeling cornered, and he didn’t want to do anything else he’d regret.

“Jimmy’s okay, and Hershel doesn’t seem too upset,” Carol added.

“Why would Jimmy go after you like that?” Dale asked, incredulous.

Daryl snapped, “If y’all are gonna interrogate me do I at least get a lawyer?!”

Dale put his hands up in defense, “Hey now, no one’s interrogating anyone. Everything’s fine. You’re not in any trouble and no one’s mad at you.”

He scoffed. It didn’t matter if he was in trouble. It didn’t matter if _they_ were mad at him— Beth seemed pissed and, while he didn’t especially care what anyone else thought of him, he didn’t want Beth to look at him like the others did.

“Dale, why don’t you see if you can get some ice from the house?” Carol suggested. When he was gone, Carol gestured towards the empty seat at the table across from her. Daryl sat and brought his thumb to the corner of his mouth, biting at the nail and looking down at the tabletop.

“Hey, I believe you—” she started, “—but you know Rick’s right, at least about this, right?” Daryl looked up at her for a moment before turning his eyes away again.

“Yeah, I know…” he mumbled. They sat together in a silence much tenser than the one he and Beth shared as they walked and waited for Dale to bring Daryl an ice pack for his sore knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a fight before so I kept this one short and sweet. Sorry for throwing Jimmy under the bus so much but he's the obvious plot device here. I really want Beth to have that same strength that she does in the end of season 4, but I also want her to grieve for her mom and her brother because we don't really get to see that in the show. I love a star-crossed lovers story!! So, anyway, about that barn full of walkers...
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story through 8 largely plotless chapters! xxx


	9. Climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated 'M' for 'Merle is in this one.'

“Mornin’, guys. Let's get goin’. We've got a lot of ground to cover,” Rick said, laying the map out on the car hood where they gathered,

“Everyone's getting’ new search grids today. If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might have gone further east than we've been so far.”

“I’d like to help.” The entire group looked up to see Jimmy walking over to them sporting a sweet shiner and a bandaid on his jaw. Daryl raised an eyebrow at him, and he continued, “I know the area pretty well, is all…”

“Hershel’s okay with this?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, he told me to ask you,” Jimmy replied. He was obviously lying, Daryl could tell, but he couldn’t be bothered to care enough to call him out on it; whatever—or whoever—it took to find Sophia.

Daryl looked back at the map and said, “I'm gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird's-eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, I'll spot her.”

“Maybe you'll see your chupacabra up there too,” T-Dog and Dale laughed.

“Screw you.”

“Chupacabra?” Rick questioned with a laugh of his own.

“You never heard this? Our first night in camp back in the quarry, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of a time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a Chupacabra.”  
“What are you braying at, jackass? ‘Less you wanna turn that black eye into a matching set.”

“You believe in a blood-suckin’ dog?”

“You believe in dead people walkin’ around?” Daryl picked up his bow and walked off towards the stables. He’d only ridden a horse a handful of times in the last decade and he hoped it was like riding a bicycle— you never _really_ forget; it just takes a second to come back to you. He saddled the horse, walked it out of the stables, through the gate, and rode down the same trail Beth showed him the day before.

* * *

Everything was fine until nothing was. Daryl rode his horse to the top of the ridge, got a good lookout over the area of woods they were searching, he even found Sophia’s doll—the first solid lead since finding the farmhouse days ago—but no good deed goes unpunished.

The horse bucked and Daryl hit the ground. Falling. Falling. Falling. A white-hot pain. Then, cold all over as he finally hit the water.

* * *

Falling the second time, Daryl thought he was dead; and when he came to and saw his brother standing over him, with two hands and eyes clearer than they’d been in years, he knew he was. He groaned. Pain shot through him with every ragged breath.

“Why don't you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

“Merle?”

“Now, what’s goin’ on here?”

“Havin’ a shitty day, bro.”

“I can see that, princess. All them years I spent trying to make a man of you, this is what I get?”

“Screw you.”

“You’re the one screwed by the look of it. Gonna die out here layin’ in the dirt, shot with one of your own bolts? For what?”

“Little girl, they lost a little girl.”

“You into little girls now?”

“Shut up,” Daryl coughed, and the pain ran through his body from his head to his toes.

“Nah, not little girls. Just farmer’s daughters, ain’t that right?” He could hear the sneer in Merle’s voice even if he couldn’t see it clearly on his face.

“Said shut up.”

“Out takin’ walks, gettin’ all lovey-dovey with that little blonde thang. I notice you ain’t out lookin’ for Ol’ Merle anymore.”

“I looked for you, bro. All you had to do was wait. We went back for you, Rick and I.”

Daryl tried to make his eyes focus and his head quit spinning, but the warm sun on his face and the soft babbling of the creek made him want to sleep.

“This the same Rick that cuffed me to the rooftop in the first place? Got you runnin’ around playin’ errand boy like you’re his bitch now?” Merle crouched down next to Daryl and gripped his chin, making Daryl meet his eye.

“Those people back there? Your buddy Rick, that little girl’s mama? You're nothin’ but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That's all you are. They're laughin’ at you behind your back.

“Now listen here. Ain’t nobody _ever_ gonna care about you ‘cept me, little brother. And ain’t nobody ever gonna love you ‘cept me either. Not your new friends, not Blondie, _nobody._ You understand me?”

Daryl nodded weakly.

“Good. Now get your dumb ass up and save yourself.”

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the farm, Beth—confined to the house under lock and key after the previous day’s daring escape and the ridiculously stupid fight that followed—helped Lori, Carol, and Patricia in the kitchen. Hershel’s calendar said it was the first week of July. There was no way to be 100% sure, of course, but from the other side of the window over the kitchen sink it looked like summer was in full swing. It frustrated her endlessly that after spending 2 months in the thick of it, she’d been deemed too fragile to do anything but peel potatoes and shuck corn. She wanted to be out there looking for Sophia, she wanted to go on runs, she wanted to do _something_ engaging and meaningful enough to take her mind off of the absence that radiated through the whole house, from the cellar, through the kitchen, up the stairs, and into every room. She was looking out the window into the yard, still holding a carrot mid-peel, when Lori’s voice brought her back head back down to her body.

“Beth? How are you holding up, honey?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m okay, thanks. How’s Carl?”

“He’s doing great! Thanks to your dad,” she smiled, but there was a tinge of something Beth couldn’t quite identify underneath.

“That’s good, I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just hard.”

“I know, sweetheart, it’ll get easier. I promise,” Lori pulled her into a hug. “We’re here if you need anything, alright?”

“Thanks, Lori.”

“Is Jimmy okay? He took a pretty good beating yesterday.”

“He’s fine, just an idiot; shouldn’t be startin’ fights in the first place, let alone fights he knows he can’t win. He went to look for Sophia with Andrea and T.”

“He was only looking out for you,” Patricia chided.

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“And what about that boy who beat him up?”

“Daryl? What about him?”

“Do you want _him_ to look out for you?”

“No. I am perfectly capable of lookin’ after myself.” Beth said, sternly.

“He seems to like you well enough,” Lori teased, “He speaks to you in complete sentences and he got in a fistfight with your boyfriend.”

“He’s my friend. They’re both my friends and they’re _both_ idiots.”

* * *

“Please, don’t feed the birds,” Merle called out smugly. Even as a figment of Daryl’s imagination Merle still managed to be the most obnoxious bastard the world over.

“I liked you better when you was missin’!” Every step felt like being torn in half. His wound needed stitching, he'd probably bruised, if not broken, a few ribs, and— seeing as how he was hallucinating his presumed-dead-brother’s presence— he almost certainly had a concussion.

“C’mon, Darylina! I’m on your side!”

“Since when?”

“Since the day you was born, baby boy. Spent every day of the last 22'n-a-half years on your side. Somebody had to take care of your worthless ass.”

“You didn’t take care of me!”

“Yeah? Who did then? ‘Cause it sure as shit wasn’t Will or June looking after you! Who took your beatin's for you? Who'd you come crawlin' to when you ran away? And who’s looking out for you now?”

“You were never there. Not really. Some things never change.”

“I'll tell you what-- I'm as real as your chupacabra.”

“I know what I saw!”

“And I'm sure them shrooms you ate had nothing to do with it, right?”

“Shut the hell up, Merle!”

“Hate for Blondie to find out about that, huh? You think she’s gonna want you when she finds out how you really are? You think any ‘a them will?”

Daryl yelled in pain as he pulled himself up another foot, hands in a death grip around the tree root he used for leverage.

“Minute you stop bein’ useful them people’ll kick you to the curb like the mutt you are, son. Ain’t nothin’ but a stray dog loyal enough for scraps but too dumb, dirty, and ugly to bring into the house. Too dumb to realize you’re gettin’ played too,” Merle’s voice bellowed and echoed through the woods.

“Fuck off, Merle!”

Merle whooped with some kind of twisted pride. “Or whaat?? Can’t do nothin’ if you’re dead, son! Get your ass up here! Climb!”

* * *

“What’s all this?” Hershel asked, coming into the kitchen.

“Carol and Lori wanted to make everyone a nice dinner, to say thank you,” Maggie said.

“This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. Beth’s in there helping them right now.”

“We shouldn’t get too attached to these people, Maggie, I don’t—”

“Daddy, it’s just dinner. They’re good people, we’d be dead if Glenn hadn’t found us and they hadn’t taken us in.”

“Is something going on with the two of you?”

“Me and Glenn? Dad—”

“It’s bad enough I have to worry about Beth and Jimmy and whatever it is that’s going on with the young man with the bow, I don’t want to have to worry about chasing you and Glenn around while I’m at it.”

“Daddy. Everythin’s fine. It’s just dinner, alright?” She kissed her father on the cheek and left him in the dining room, hoping she’d be able to catch Glen before dinner.

* * *

Beth let her fingers gently brush across the flower petals as she added more water to the Coke bottle. She could’ve put them in a proper vase, they’d likely live longer in a real vase with a little fertilizer and a couple of ice cubes, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel as—honest? Genuine? Maybe, special? No one admitted to bringing them in, but Beth had a sneaking suspicion that it was Glenn; he and Maggie had gotten pretty close and Beth was happy to see her sister happy. Somebody ought to be.

“Cherokee roses?” Carol asked over Beth’s shoulder.

“Someone left them on the table the other day. I think it was Glenn, I think he’s tryin’ to get Maggie to like him,” Beth laughed. At first glance it seemed silly, trying to woo someone at the end of the world, but what’s the point in surviving if you aren’t trying to hang on to some of what makes life worth living in the first place; some of what makes you human. Maybe surviving means trying your hardest to stay human even when it’s a million times easier not to be.

“There’s a story about them, you know. That they grow wherever a grieving person’s tears fall to give them hope.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Daryl told me when he brought me a _cherokee rose in a bottle_ a couple of days ago.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her lip curling upward--the closest she'd come to an actual smile since she'd been home. 

Carol flashed Beth a quiet grin before returning to work chopping vegetables for dinner.

* * *

“That’s the third time you’ve pointed that thing at my head, Grimes! _You gonna pull the trigger_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to unpack some of Merle and Daryl's screwy, toxic, sibling relationship because I unironically think Merle is one of the most interesting characters TWD ever had, so here's this. This chapter largely followed canon, the next chapter does not at all.  
> Next time: Daryl is shot, Beth and Daryl talk (it's pretty sweet), Beth and Maggie blow up at each other, there's walkers in the barn.
> 
> I really really can't stress enough how much I appreciate all the nice comments, it's really nice knowing that people like reading the stuff that I write!! Thanks for reading!! xxx


	10. Very Much Alive

Beth jumped at the sound of the gunshot echoing from the yard out through the fields and bouncing off of every wall inside the house. They hadn’t heard a gunshot in a week outside of target practice, Hershel hadn’t let them carry openly and there were hardly any walkers near enough to warrant a shot. She could hear the yelling but couldn’t make out any of the words.

“What in the world is going on out here?” Hershel bellowed.

Beth raced out the door after Carol and Lori. She watched as Andrea scrambled down from the perch on top of the RV; she handed the rifle to Dale and took off running into the field behind Rick, Shane, and Glenn. Meeting her father at the end of the driveway, Beth saw Rick and Shane struggle to pick someone up off of the ground, the body held limply between the two of them as they quickly made their way towards the house. Suddenly, something deep in Beth’s chest started screaming that _something_ was wrong—the same feeling she had just before finding out her mother was dead; the same feeling she got watching the first reports of the outbreak on the news. Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

When she finally saw Daryl, she thought he was dead. He looked dead; unconscious, covered in dirt, blood trickling down his face and a doll tucked into his belt. She gasped and flung her hands over her mouth as they carried him past her.

“Is he dead..?” She tried to speak but couldn’t tell if any of the words actually made their way out. Carol rushed to his side and Beth could hear her father shouting instructions as they moved to take him inside, but it all sounded muffled in her head. She stared at him wide-eyed, her feet frozen to the ground where she stood. Finally, her body became hers again and she forced herself to follow the blood drop trail back towards the house. She stood in the doorway and watched as Daryl was half dragged, half carried into one of the downstairs bedrooms. Carol stepped out of the room holding the same doll that Daryl’d had attached to his belt. The door closed behind her and Beth could just barely make out Hershel and Patricia’s voices.

“He’s alive..?”

“Mmhmm,” Carol hummed. “H—He found Sophia’s doll…” Lori wrapped her arms around Carol and lead her back into the kitchen. That kitchen table had seen more grief in the last week than the entire house had in the 160 years it’d been standing.

Beth watched the door for a while longer hoping for some sign that life persisted on the other side. After a while, something crashed to the floor and the bedroom door opened. Patricia poked her head through the opening and called out loudly for Rick and Shane, who were up and over to her in a flash. Even with the door shut and half away across the living room Beth could hear sounds of a struggle. She laughed.

“Yeah, he’s alive.”

* * *

Daryl woke up fighting because, well, of course he did. He was confused and in pain and woke up in a strange room in a strange bed without a shirt on and someone touching him. Fight or flight kicked in almost immediately; thrashing, kicking, and cussing, until Rick, Shane, and Hershel had to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself worse.

“Son? Son, are you alright?” Hershel asked when Daryl’s breathing evened out some.

“Fucking peachy,” he spat.

“Do you remember what happened?” Rick asked

“It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” Hershel mumbled as he gathered his supplies.

“Found Sophia’s doll and the horse threw me down the gully. Tried to climb but I fell back down and woke up with a bolt through my side,” He hissed in pain as he tried to adjust himself on the bed.

“You were stabbed with your own arrow?”

“Yeah, life’s a bitch that way.”

“You’re lucky. It doesn’t look like you hit anything major and the bullet only grazed you. You’re going to need stitches which means you need to stay calm, understand?” Hershel said. Daryl nodded and tried not to focus too hard on the fact that Hershel could definitely see the scars on his back.

“Any idea what happened to my horse?”

“The one that tried to kill me? If it’s smart it left the country.”

“We call that one Nellie, as in Nervous Nellie. I could have told you that if you had bothered to ask.”

Daryl turned his attention back to the map, feeling more than a little bit uncomfortable.

Hershel continued, “Nellie is Bethany’s horse. She’s always been good with the skittish ones; horses, cats, dogs, even the occasional bird. She wants to care for them, even when she knows they’re going to bite her.”

* * *

Later that night, when Hershel was busy in his study and Maggie’d gone out to meet Glenn, Beth snuck downstairs to Daryl’s room. She knocked softly and quietly opened the door, sliding in and closing it carefully behind her. He laid on the bed-- staring at the ceiling like he was studying for a test—wearing an unbuttoned flannel and Beth could make out a tattoo, a handful of scattered scars, and a bandage on his side.

“You stole my horse, Daryl Dixon. Don’t you know what happens to horse thieves?”

Daryl huffed a laugh and sat up, gripping his side, “Are you gonna hang me, Greene?”

“I figure fallin’ down a cliff, gettin’ shot with your own arrow, and takin’ a bullet to the head is punishment enough. Better not be any repeat offenses, though,” she raised her eyebrow at him. 

“Nah, I’m done with horses. ‘Specially _your_ hell horse.”

“You certainly look like you’ve been through hell today,” Beth smirked

“Yeah well, we can’t all be Miss Georgia Peach,” returning his own grin.

“I am sorry you got hurt, though. Nellie can be a little bit—unpredictable sometimes.”

“It’s alright, can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“That’s right, I forgot; you’re gonna outlive us all out of sheer bullheadedness,” Beth laughed and some of the weight that’d settled onto her chest earlier in the day began to lift. He grinned back at her. It was hard _not_ to smile when she was.

“Carol said you found Sophia’s doll?”

“Just the doll; not her.” The idea that they might not ever find _her_ still weighed heavily on the back of his mind.

“It’s something, it’s better than nothin’.”

“Yeah, first solid thing we’ve had. Only solid thing, really. Feels less like chasin’ we’re chasin’ a ghost through the woods now,” he said.

Beth came further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Daryl brought his thumb to the corner of his mouth and bit at the nail—nervous habit, the sudden proximity made him nervous. His comfort zone had always been at arm’s length. Everything was easier at a distance. Safer.

“I was so scared when they brought you in…” She was surprised at how soft her own voice sounded, nearly a whisper. There was something in her gaze that he could see but couldn’t find a name for when she looked up at him. Whatever it was, it made his heart beat a little harder against his sore ribs. Beth reached out and placed her hand on top of his. She felt him flinch and, for a split second, felt guilty for touching him knowing he didn’t usually take too kindly to it. The guilt, however, was quickly replaced with relief in knowing that if she could reach out and touch him, feel his hand—knuckles still bruised from his fight in the yard—beneath hers, if he could flinch, then he was alive. Very much alive. They were both very much alive.

“I saw you and… I thought you were dead…” Beth withdrew her touch and his eyes flicked up to meet hers momentarily. “Are you afraid of dyin’?” She didn’t know why she asked him that, but she did.

“I ain’t afraid of nothin’,” he replied with the same false confidence she knew he relied on to get him through the day. He could’ve had her fooled too if the look in his eye hadn’t given him away.

 _Nothin’ except this,_ she thought. _Nothing except someone caring. Nothing except not finding that little girl. Nothing except what other people think of you. Nothing except what you think of yourself. Nothing except just giving me the flowers instead of leaving them on the table for me to find without so much as a word. Nothing except all of the parts of you that aren’t nearly as well hidden as you think they are, Daryl Dixon._ But she’d keep his secret—for now.

“Didn’t mean to scare you…” And, somehow, Beth knew that, in his own way, he was apologizing as earnestly as he knew how.

“It’s okay,” she said, “We’re okay.” Beth leaned in and kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth. She stood, smiled at him, and said “Get some rest, okay?”

She left him alone in the room, his hand coming up to touch the space that Beth’s lips had occupied only moments ago, wondering to himself _what the fuck just happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter update, Beth and Maggie go at it in the next one! 
> 
> Felt like Daryl and Beth needed a sweet moment or two before everything starts going very wrong!! xxx


	11. The Barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are walkers in the barn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where the last one left off....

Beth closed the door softly behind her, leaned back against it slightly, but didn’t even get a chance to begin wading through the sea of feelings whirling around in her chest before Maggie came around the corner wide-eyed and clearly looking for her.

“Maggie! I was just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you right now. C’mon,” Maggie took Beth by the wrist and lead her to the basement door, down the stairs, and into the corner furthest from the door. Beth couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so confused about the circumstances involving a conversation with her sister; but she also couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever seen her sister look so frantic— _before_ or _after._

“Beth, I have to tell you somethin’. It’s really bad, okay? But you can’t freak out.”

“What’s goin’ on, Maggie? Are you ok—”

“There’s walkers in the barn.”

For a moment, Beth was sure her heart stopped beating.

“What?” She breathed, the word more of an exhale than a question.

“Daddy’s keepin’ walkers in the barn,” Maggie’s voice wavered with every word. Beth looked up at her sister in the dim basement light and saw red.

“Maggie what does that mean?!”

“He thinks they’re sick, Beth! He thinks they’re still people and that there’s gonna be a cure. To fix them, to make them better.”

“The barn is full of walkers?!? Maggie, we were at the CDC! There is no cure! Those aren’t people!!”

“I know that! I know that, I told him! I tried to make him understand but he wouldn’t listen, I swear!”

“How long have you known about this??” Beth demanded.

“The night I got here… The night before you came with the others in the RV…”

“You’ve known since we got back?? Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I wasn’t supposed to know, I found out on accident and Daddy made me promise not to tell you. He said you didn’t need to know, that nobody needed to know. That it was safer that way.”

“No. No, you and daddy don’t get to decide what I do and don’t need to know! You don’t make those decisions for me; those are not your decisions to make!! Either of you!!”

“Bethy we—”

“Keepin’ me locked up in the house, tellin’ me who I can and can’t talk to, actin’ like I wasn’t out there in Atlanta or on the road or at the CDC right along with you! I am not a child, Maggie! Then you go and keep the fact that there are _walkers in the barn_ a secret from me!? No!”

“I wanted to tell you but—I should have told you from the beginning and I didn’t. I made a mistake, but I promise me and Daddy just wanted to protect you.”

“I don’t need or want you to protect me! I want you to quit treatin’ me like I’m gonna shatter I am not made of glass! What, did you just think I wouldn’t ever find out??” Beth snapped.

“I wanted to tell you!”

“Why now? Why are you tellin’ me this now??”

“Because Glenn found out. He saw them, tonight, and I don’t know if he’s gonna tell the others. I needed you to hear it from me first, I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Beth let out an exasperated sigh, running her fingers through her hair and turning away from her sister for a moment.

“We have to tell them, Mags. We have to tell Rick.”

“No, Beth you can’t say anything! Not to Rick, not to Daryl, not to anybody. Not until we talk to dad first. The group is gonna shoot first and ask questions later, he’s still completely convinced they’re people.”

“You realize how _fucked_ this is, right??” The expletive was jarring coming out of Beth’s mouth.

“Yes of course I realize how fucked this is, _Bethany_ , but I don’t know what to do! If we tell Rick now and they go and kill all of the walkers then daddy will make them leave. T’s still sick, Carl’s _just_ starting to get better, Daryl almost _died_ today lookin’ for a little girl who’s _still_ missing, what are they gonna do if he forces them out??”

“So, what do you suggest we do, _Magnolia_. What if the walkers get out of the barn and everyone gets attacked during the night? They’re all out there right now and they have no idea how much danger they’re in!”

“I told Glenn not to tell anyone, okay? And I don’t know if he is or isn’t but, in the meantime, we need to make daddy understand that the walkers aren’t the people they used to anymore. It has to be his decision to put them down, he has to be okay with it because otherwise he’ll make Rick’s group go and that isn’t an option either, right?”

“They took us in. They _trust_ us.”

“And we trust them, but daddy doesn’t.”

“They’re gonna find out anyway, you know Glenn’s a bad liar.”

“I know, and I’m not saying we don’t tell them, I’m saying that we should talk to daddy first before things spiral out of control!”

“This is already out of control! He’s got a barn full of walkers barely a field away from where we live! We have a heard _literally_ in our own backyard!! How many are in there? 5? 10? 40??”

“I don’t know, I only saw them for a second tonight.”

“Is Sophia…?”

“I don’t know, Beth…”

“Mama…? And Shawn…?” Beth’s voice caught in her throat. Since finding out about their deaths, the only comfort Beth found was in knowing that they were at peace, that they didn’t have to suffer or suffer through any longer. The idea that they _were_ suffering-- living in limbo in the barn like the man she’d seen hanging in the woods-- made her stomach tie itself in knots so tight she was afraid they’d never come undone again.

“I asked but…I asked but he wouldn’t tell me…. Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Not Patricia, not Jimmy, and especially not Carol or Daryl.”

“You shoulda told _me_ , Maggie…”

“I know I know and I’m so sorry but please, Beth, just give me tomorrow, okay? Let me talk to him and then we talk to Rick. Together. Me and you, I promise.”

“You shoulda told me…” Beth sighed and started for the stairs, the whirling in her chest suddenly a hurricane threatening to tear her apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter update, this chapter and the one before (10+11) were going to be one long thing, but I felt like Beth and Maggie deserved their own space. Beth finally gets to stand up to Maggie and Maggie gets to see Beth as an adult instead of a little kid.
> 
> Maggie is short for Magnolia because this is my story and I make the rules. 
> 
> In the next chapter: Beth and Daryl get one more moment of peace before all hell breaks loose, the group finds out about the walkers in the barn, all hell breaks loose. 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this so far!! Thanks for reading and especially thank you for all the comments and kudos, I really appreciate it! xxx


	12. Conscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after Beth and Maggie's argument...

Beth hardly slept. She sat on the bench below the window frame keeping secret watch over her second family in the yard, replaying the night’s conversations over and over in her head. She thought about her mother; Hershel told her he wasn’t able to bury Annette and Shawn but seemed to leave out the part where they were rotting away in the barn at the edge of the property line. Everything in her was screaming that she should get up, walk out the front door, and spill her guts to Rick and Dale and Lori and everyone and make them fix it. Or Daryl, only a staircase away in the bedroom underneath hers. Or maybe she could take care of them herself; sneak into the hayloft with a gun and silencer and and and—and what? Put down Sophia? Her mother? Her brother? Sure, she didn’t know for sure that they were in there, but she didn’t know that they weren’t either. And when she thought about her father—how he really _truly_ believed that the walkers were just ill people who needed help—she didn’t know what to do.

How could was she supposed to lie to people who would die for her? How could she lie to her _family_ and how could _her_ family lie to her? She’d give Maggie the day, but no more after that. In the 2 months since the turn Beth’d felt every possible feeling there was to be felt, but she never felt completely helpless until that moment; looking out over the people she cared about most in the yard she knew like the back of her hand from the house she grew up in that just didn’t feel like home anymore. She kept watch from her window until the light peaked up over the treetops. They made it through the night, they’d only need to make it through one more.

* * *

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until a knocking at her door woke her up.

“Bethy?” Patricia called through the door, “Time to wake up, sweetheart. Your daddy asked me to come check on you. Nellie came back this morning!”

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Beth called back. She turned onto her back and stared up at her ceiling. It must’ve been mid-morning from how high in the sky the sun was as it shined through the window she’d stayed up all night looking out. Reluctantly, Beth rolled out of bed and started getting ready for the day. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she immediately noticed how absolutely exhausted she looked—she’d already been running on fumes and the previous 24 hours certainly hadn’t done anything to remedy that in the slightest.

The wall clock in the living room said it was 10:14, but there was really no way to be sure. In the kitchen, Maggie stood in front of the sink washing dishes and looking out over the field.

“Did you talk to him?” Beth asked—no pleasantries, no pretenses, she was still too upset to pretend she was anything else.

Maggie startled, nearly sending the glass she was drying to the floor. “Jesus Christ, Beth! You scared the hell outta me!”

“ _Did you talk to him_?”

“I told him Glenn knows. And about Jenner and the CDC again; that they aren’t really them anymore and there isn’t any way to bring them back.” Maggie set the glass and the towel down on the counter, turning to face Beth. It was clear she hadn’t slept much either and Beth didn’t envy her situation in the slightest. Hershel Greene wasn’t exactly the sort of man who liked to be told he was wrong, especially about a decision he made and doubly for family matters. He was a good man, but stubborn as all hell and not easily swayed— Maggie and Beth’s apples didn’t fall too far from that tree.

“And he said?”

“That he’d ‘take that under advisement,’ and left to check the horses and the generators.”

Beth didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say that she hadn’t said the night before and what would be the point in beating a dead horse deader. She walked out of the room, leaving Maggie and the dishes to consider the consequences of their actions.

* * *

Against doctor’s orders—well, veterinarian’s orders, but it wasn’t as if they had the luxury of being picky—Daryl left the Greene’s downstairs bedroom turned infirmary and returned to his tent at first light. He hated the house; the way the floor creaked and the foundation settled and, most of all, the ever-lingering feeling that he didn’t belong in a place like that. In a real home. He’d never lived for any period of time in a house even half as nice as the Greene home. In fact, his last address before the turn was a run down, crime-filled, drug-addled apartment complex in Macon where he and Merle leased month to month and paid in cash. _Home_ was whatever cheap place they could find in wherever Merle decided they’d be going next. Sometimes— when Merle was locked up, fucked up, or just plain took off— home was the cab of his truck, a tent in the woods, his uncle’s couch, or, if all other options were dead and buried, the glorified lean-to of a cabin he’d grown up in. The house reminded him of all the things he’d never had and all the things he never was.

After a lecture from Hershel about the dangers of infection, the importance of not overdoing it, and the acknowledgment that he was one of the most difficult patients Hershel’d ever had—and he’d once dealt with a rabid coyote—Daryl was allowed to stay in his tent at camp as long as he _stay in his tent at camp_.

It wasn’t even noon when Andrea’s guilt, Carol’s fussing, and his own boredom finally got the better of him.

* * *

Beth found Daryl sitting at the base of a tree on the far side of the yard near the stables. That particular tree was blocked from view by the house and it made Beth laugh to think that he picked that one specifically to hide from the group’s good intentions. He sat with his legs crossed at the ankles, sharpening his knife with all the focus and concentration someone else might use to paint a portrait or conduct a symphony. A cigarette dangled from his lips. Beth knew that he knew that she was walking towards him; he always seemed to know where everyone was at all times in all spaces despite never actually looking like he was paying attention to anything. Glenn joked once that it was like he had all of their individual footsteps committed to memory, not that anyone would necessarily put that past him.

He looked up when Beth stood directly in front of him. She had a bag full of something slung over her right shoulder and a knife tucked into her boot. The sun looked like a halo behind her head making her hair shine bright gold.

“Come with me,” she said, extending her hand to help him up from the ground. He stood, stamping out his cigarette and wincing slightly at the pain in his side. Beth surprised him when she didn’t let go of his hand—he surprised himself when he didn’t let go either.

“Change your mind about hangin’ me?” He asked as he followed her further from the house and towards the stables. “You’re not walkin’ me to my execution, are you?”

“I promise I’m not gonna hang you,” Beth laughed, “But I do think you owe _someone_ an apology.” She led him by the hand down the center aisle to the furthest stall on the right-hand side. Nervous Nellie, in all her manic glory, perked up as Beth undid the lock and let the stall door swing open. She reached into her bag and pulled out two carrots and gave one to Nellie who was more than a little bit excited to be on the receiving end of Beth’s attention.

“Patricia said she came back really early this mornin’, found her standin’ at the fence waitin’ for someone to let her in.” Nellie let Beth run her fingers through her mane while she spoke; she turned and held the second carrot out to Daryl, “Give her this and tell her you’re sorry.”

“ _I’m_ sorry?? _She’s_ the one who tried to kill _me_!”

“And she’s very sorry but it wasn’t her fault that she startled and you did _steal her_ , after all. So, give her the carrot and apologize.”

He shook his head and grumbled, “Sorry,” holding the carrot out for the horse. She accepted it happily and Daryl took that to mean they were even. Beth took his hand in her own again and pressed them both to Nellie’s neck.

“There,” she said beaming, “Now y’all can be friends again.”

The world ended. He lost his brother. Beth lost her brother _and_ her mother. In the last week he’d gotten in a fight with her boyfriend, stolen her horse, gotten shot, and been kissed. And there he was; standing in the stables, holding hands with Beth, making nice with the horse he stole. Daryl couldn’t help but laugh, both amused by and a little bit indignant at the absurdity of it all.

Beth pulled an apple out of her bag and gave it to Daryl. “Here, your knife’s sharper. At least I hope it is since you spent most of the morning sharpenin’ it over and over,” she teased.

“Got the whole produce section in there, Greene?”

“Ha ha ha.” She rolled her eyes and gave Nellie the newly sliced apple. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”

* * *

“Everyone Else” were the Greene family’s 4 additional horses—Frankie, Heather, Chevy, and Ben. Beth led Daryl stall to stall giving out carrots and affection and trying as hard as she could to push the fact that she was keeping a horrible, dangerous secret to the back of her mind. She wanted to tell him; every time there was a break in the conversation, she had to fight her better angels to keep from blurting out the fact that, as they spoke, there were walkers in the barn.

_There’s walkers in the barn. There’s walkers in the barn. There’s walkers in the barn._

“Hershel taught you how to ride?” Daryl asked, unaware of how grateful Beth was to have something else to think about.

“Mmhmm, him and my mom. Shawn and Maggie too, a little bit, but they were never very good teachers. Older siblings, I’m sure you know all about that,” she teased. Daryl thought about all the things he’d learned from Merle—how to hotwire a car, how to pick a lock, how to pick a pocket, how to shoplift—and found himself nodding in agreement.

_There are walkers in the barn, and I can’t tell you._

_There are walkers in the barn and I’m lying to your face._

“What about you, where’d you learn?”

“I used to live up in the mountains a ways, closest neighbors was this old guy and his wife. I’d do work for them sometimes and they’d let me ride their horse.” Daryl absently brought his hand up to touch the stitches on his head; it didn’t hurt but the sensation bothered him, and he had the constant urge to pick at it.

_There are walkers in the barn and my mama and my brother might be too._

“Quit it, you’ll make it worse.” She pulled his hand away from his bandage. He didn’t flinch that time. For a moment, they were still. His knuckles weren’t so bruised anymore, but his hand was rough in hers. Beth could smell hay and cigarettes and vanilla lotion.

_There are walkers in the barn and everyone we love is in danger._

Together, they walked back to the camp under the oak trees at the front of the house, each dropping the other’s hand before anyone could see them. Carol was cooking something over the fire. Lori and Rick sat with Carl, finally well enough to spend time outside. The others scattered around camp; eating, cleaning weapons, doing whatever they could to stave off the post-apocalyptic boredom. Beth watched Glenn stand nervously at the edge of the group. He looked at the house, then at Dale, then out at everyone else. Her blood ran cold. She knew what was coming.

“Guys, the barn's full of walkers.”

_There are walkers in the barn, and I am so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter/s: The barn (which might take me a little longer than usual to write because it's kind of complicated and there are a lot of moving parts)
> 
> I've gotten the nicest comments ever on this from people and seriously I appreciate it so much!!  
> I think this is my favorite chapter so far, so I really hope y'all like it too!! xxx


	13. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Barn Pt. 1

Beth watched the next moment pass from outside of herself as if her life was a play and she was seated in the front row throwing popcorn at the actors.

_The barn’s full of walkers_

Glenn’s revelation hung heavy in the air like a bad smell.No one moved. No one spoke. The world, which before seemed to be spinning out of control, stopped dead in its tracks. Then, as suddenly as it stopped, it started again.

_“What did you say?”_

_“What the fuck do you mean the barn’s full of walkers?”_

_“That barn? The barn that’s like a hundred yards from where we’ve been sleeping for the last week??”_

Their voices sounded so distant that Beth couldn’t tell who it was asking the questions, but it didn’t matter. The secret was out and there would be no going back; come what may. Hershel should have taken _that_ under advisement.

Shane stood so quickly the red lawn chair he’d been sitting in fell backward onto the ground with a clatter. He took off like a shot towards the barn and the others followed close behind; meals, guns, and previous engagements forgotten.

* * *

“You cannot tell me you're all right with this.”

“No, I'm not, but we're guests here. This isn't our land.”

“This is our lives!”

Shane and Rick argued but Beth didn’t hear any of it. Instead, she stared at the barn, watching the doors buck and the chain rattle as the walkers inside tried to escape, trying not to imagine her mother as one of them. 

“Okay, we've either got to go in there, we've got to make things right or we've just got to go!” Shane shouted.

“We can’t just go!”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because my daughter is still out there!” Beth tuned back in at the sound of Carol’s wobbly voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw Maggie quickly approaching with Jimmy on her heels. She decided to hazard a glance at Daryl, but his face was unreadable. Brow furrowed, jaw set, eyes forward; the same look he’d had before he fought with Jimmy and before he went after Jenner with an ax at the CDC-- not at all like he’d been in the stables. It was almost unsettling how quickly he could shift between the Daryl that takes walks and pets horses and the Daryl with a hair-trigger temper. 

“Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility,” Shane said.

“Ain’t any other possibility. I'm close to finding this girl. I just found her damn doll two days ago!” Daryl yelled.

“You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did, you found her _doll!_ Not her!”

“Screw you! You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about!”

“I’m saying what has to be said!”

“Shane, stop,” Rick moved to stand between them, putting his arms out to separate them.

“Let me tell you somethin’ else, man. If she _was_ alive out there and saw you coming, all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!”

Daryl lunged at Shane. Shane pushed him back and Rick grabbed Shane by the arm to keep him from swinging.

“I’ll kick your ass, boy!” Shane struggled against Rick’s grip.

“Fuck you!” The group flocked around them, all yelling over each other trying to keep Daryl and Shane apart. Carol moved in front of him and Beth put her hand in the center of his chest while Rick and T Dog blocked Shane.

“Both of you back off!” Rick shouted. “Let me talk to Hershel, we can work something out.”

Maggie’s voice cut through the chaos, “He thinks they’re sick!” The entire group's attention turned to her. Beth looked up at Daryl, with her hand still on his chest she could feel his heart beating like a jackrabbit.

“He thinks they’re sick,” Maggie continued, “he thinks there will be a cure and they’ll get better. I tried to make him understand, I told him about the CDC, but he wouldn’t hear it.”

“You knew about this??” Shane demanded

“I found out the day we got back here but—”

“Fuck this,” Daryl muttered; he shook his head and walked away. _Let the rest of those pricks figure it out._ Sophia was still missing, and he wasn’t about to give up on her, she deserved more than that.

* * *

Carol found him in the stable putting the reins on Chevy and looking like he was ready to kill someone. It felt like days had passed since Daryl stood in that same spot with Beth, cutting apple slices and brushing the horses, but in reality, it’d only been about an hour, maybe less. Time had a funny way of passing in the apocalypse; minutes, days, seconds, weeks, none of it meant anything anymore. All they had were moments, and a lot can change from one to the next.

“You can’t go. You’re hurt,” Carol said cautiously.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to heal. Hershel said—”

“Hershel’s got a bunch of geeks in his barn I don’t really give a shit what he said.”

“Okay…Rick’s goin’ to follow the trail later today.”

“I ain’t gonna sit around here and do nothin’.”

“No, you’re gonna go out there and get yourself hurt worse.”

He scoffed in response and walked around Carol to grab the saddle.

“We don’t know if we’re goin’ to find her, Daryl… I don’t know…”

“What did you just say?” He took a step forward, towering over her and looking her dead in the eye. Daryl shoved past her, picked up the saddle, and threw it on the ground; the sudden movement shot pain through his ribs. The part of him that understood he was acting erratically was overshadowed by the part of him that needed to get away from all of it as soon as possible. Daryl wasn’t stupid, he knew there was a distinct possibility that Sophia could already be dead. Hell, she could’ve been in the barn with the other geeks for all he knew, but it didn’t matter. Sophia’s death meant ‘ _it’_ was permanent, that the new world would take and take and take forever until it’d taken everything and everyone. If Sophia was dead, there was no going back. She didn’t deserve to die, and they didn’t deserve to live like that.

* * *

“Why don’t you go bother your _boyfriend_ or somethin’,” Daryl snapped at Beth as she approached the same tree she’d found him at that morning. Serious déjà vu.

“That’s not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, princess. Not before and ‘specially not now!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

“I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry?? Y’all have a walker pettin’ zoo next to where we sleep and you’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know!” Beth shouted. She wondered if the others could hear their raised voices, if they’d come looking for them or if she’d have to see the argument through to the end—no interruptions, no getting out of it.

“You didn’t know?” Daryl scoffed and turned away from Beth. “You didn’t know? ‘Cause your sister’s sayin’ she knew since we got here!”

“I didn’t know until last night… Maggie told me after I came to see you.”

“Saw me this mornin’ too and you didn’t say nothin’.” Daryl kicked at the tree root under his foot, trying not to let his anger get the better of him. He was mad at her for not telling him, mad at himself for letting his guard down around her— he might have even _trusted_ her, a lot of good that did him.

“I couldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

“I promised Maggie I wouldn’t.”

“Thought you don’t want to do what Maggie says anymore?” he mocked

“You don’t get it!”

“You’re right, I don’t!!”

Beth took a couple of shaky breaths and sat down on the ground, running her fingers through the grass, pulling up a fistful, and letting it go in the breeze. There was nothing in the world Beth wanted less at that moment than to cry in front of him.

Against his better judgment, Daryl moved to sit next to her. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a zippo lighter, both of which had seen better days. Beth hugged her knees to her chest and started humming a song she couldn’t remember the name of but remembered her mother singing. From the corner of her eye, she watched Daryl fidget with his lighter, snapping it open and shut, open and shut, open and shut, at a pace steady enough that it was almost soothing— grounding, maybe. He took a long drag and held his breath. _It must burn_ , she thought. Beth ripped out another handful of grass; a ladybug walked across her finger for a moment before flying away and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so jealous of anything in her life. Daryl exhaled, careful to blow the smoke away from her.

“Those things will kill you; you know.”

“I ain’t that lucky.” 

Beth moved closer to Daryl and leaned over to put her head against his shoulder. She reached out and twirled a piece of his hair around her finger, brushing against his neck. Daryl thought about that day on the road when he watched Beth braid Sophia’s hair and realized they were some of the last good the world had to offer— and that it was only a matter of time before the world took them too. He let his head rest against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming: The barn opens and the group plans a funeral 
> 
> This is a setup chapter to get the ball rolling for the next two, the next two are much more exciting (and sad, sorry in advance). I said this would be a slow burn and I meant it. Hope you like it!! xxx
> 
> p.s: Happy Holidays!!!
> 
> p.p.s: If someone who's reading this beginning to end could lmk if it flows okay I'd appreciate that. I want it to feel like a cohesive story, but I'm more used to writing vaguely related one-shots. It makes sense in my head so I hope it's making sense to y'all too!


	14. Buckshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Barn Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning: Canon typical violence and an overall sad vibe

“The hell’s goin’ on?” Beth and Daryl rounded the house and found half the group sitting on the front porch steps, the same half that should have been out looking for Sophia hours ago.

“We have no idea, man,” T said, leaning against the railing, “Rick said he had to help Hershel with something, and we haven’t seen him since. We were supposed to leave over an hour ago.”

Lori stepped out of the screen door and onto the porch with Carol and Carl by her side.

“What are you doing?” Lori demanded, looking past everyone else at Shane. He walked towards them like a mad man on a mission, duffel bag full of guns slung over his shoulder.

“I’m doing what needs to be done.” He pulled a rifle out of the bag and held it out to Daryl. “You wanna protect these people, right? Carol, Carl, Sophia, everybody; you wanna keep them safe? You wanna keep _Beth_ safe? Are you with me?” Daryl took the gun, albeit reluctantly, and looked at Beth who looked resolved and angry and about ready to kill Shane herself.

“Shane stop, if you hand out these guns my dad will make you leave,” Maggie warned.

“Sophia is still missing, Carl’s still hurt, Shane! You can’t make this about you!” Beth shouted

“We don’t clear that barn and we’ll have to leave anyway when we get attacked in the middle of the night!”

The group erupted into the same chaos they’d been in that morning. It was no secret that Shane was crazy; that particular factoid was common knowledge, everyone knew that. However, watching him hand out rifles, talking about “if y'all want to live, if you want to survive, you got to fight for it!” like some crackpot general of a ragtag army went beyond anything any of them could have imagined.

“This is insane!”

“What are we supposed to just go in there guns blazin’?”

“This isn’t your call to make, man!!”

“Oh shit!” T Dog yelled, pointing off into the distance. There, Hershel and Rick, with help from Jimmy, lead walkers on catch poles out of the tree line and towards the barn.

“What the fuck is this?! No way! No!” Shane took off running. The others got up to follow, Maggie ran after yelling at him to _wait_ and to _not do whatever insane thing he was about to do_ and to _think things through_ , but they all knew the time for thinking things through had come and gone. If there had been time to think, Beth might have considered how odd it was that they’d come full circle that day; everything starting and ending with the barn.

She watched Shane shoot the walker her father held and, as angry as she was at him for almost certainly ruining it all for everyone, a part of her was grateful for it. Maybe her father would take _that_ under advisement. Maybe he’d finally understand that it was a cruel and sick and harsh reality, but it was the only one they had. Shane took a pickaxe to the lock on the barn doors. The walkers inside moaned and hissed in something that could have resembled anticipation in the living. They clawed against the wood, smelling a meal on the other side. For the first time, Beth let herself honestly consider the possibility that her mother was among them.

The lock gave way and the first of the walkers emerged. She nodded at Daryl when he hesitated-- _do it_ _, you have to, I know you have to--_ but her heart took a swan dive off her ribs and landed twisted in the pit of her stomach. In Atlanta, the gunfire was something they’d all grown used to; at the farm, however, things were different. It was almost like Beth forgot how it sounded, how it felt, how it shook the Earth beneath her feet and rattled the bones inside her chest. She watched her father fall to his knees and her sister rush to his side.

* * *

Shawn came out first. He was wearing his favorite shirt, but it was covered in blood. A chunk of flesh was missing from his arm. Before, he’d dreamed of becoming a NASCAR pit crew member; he could fix just about anything with an engine and apprenticed at the local mechanic’s shop when he wasn’t working on the farm. He would have been 25 in February.

He was shot twice in the head and fell dead where he stood.

Annette’s hair was matted with blood and viscera from the wound on her neck. She was still wearing her wedding ring. Her skirt was ripped, and her eyes weren’t hers, but seeing her hurt all the same— like a crushing weight on Beth’s chest, all the oxygen forced out of her lungs. A pair of arms caught her before she hit the ground and as she sobbed into Jimmy’s chest, she suddenly remembered the name of the song she’d been humming early, the one Annette used to sing while she baked. Beth mumbled the words to herself over the ringing in her ears.

She watched Daryl shoot her mother and hated him for it. 

* * *

The momentary stillness the followed was almost unbearable. Somewhere in the barn, gravel crunched underfoot and the hissing, death rattle, walker sound was quiet but distinct. The shuffling footsteps got closer, closer, closer. Rock bottom was much closer than they thought, and then the bottom fell out.

Sophia’s hair was still wavy from the braids Beth’d given her.

Carol’s scream froze Daryl’s blood in his veins, if he never heard a sound so soul-crushing again in his life it’d be too soon. Carol ran forward and he caught her before she could throw herself at Sophia’s feet. He never took his eyes off of the little girl. He’d have died to save Sophia, and she was dead all the while. The final shot rang out and echoed across the fields.

* * *

“Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,” Daryl murmured, helping Carol to her feet. In hysterics, she struggled against him and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble backward. Daryl watched her run back to camp before looking around at the scene unfolding.

Most of the group stood silently in shock and at a loss. Bodies and blood and shell casings littered the barnyard. Behind them, the Greenes sobbed. Hershel knelt in the dirt with Maggie and Patricia at his side while Jimmy and Beth clung to each other like they had the morning after the quarry camp was attacked. Beth cried into his shirt and he kissed the top of her head, smoothing her hair with his hand and trying not to look every bit as terrified as he must've been. Suddenly, she pushed away from Jimmy just as Carol had and made her way over to one of the walkers on the ground. Rick reached out to stop her before she got too close, but she slapped away his hand and reached down to shove away a dead man who'd landed half on top of a smaller woman when he was put down. Buckshot from one of the rifles tore some of the flesh from her face but the resemblance was still clear in her the frizzy blonde waves, the curve of her nose. Daryl recognized the woman immediately as one of the walkers that _he’d_ shot. 

“Mom…?” she whispered, brushing Annette’s hair from her face. “Mama…?”

Annette shot forward and took a fistful of Beth’s hair in her grasp, blonde strands tangled around the diamond ring on her finger. Beth screamed. She tried to push her mother back to the floor, but the snapping jaws just kept coming at her.

“Beth!”

The group leaped into action. Daryl grabbed Beth around her waist and pulled her backward, prying her away from her dead mother’s grip. Andrea, T, and Glenn put down Annette, stomping on her head and sending a knife through her temple.

“Nothin’ bit you? Nothin’ scratched you??” He frantically checked Beth for injuries. She shook her head and the tears flowed again leaving tracks through the blood on her cheeks. Hershel reached out to pull Beth into a hug and she snapped.

“It's all your fault!” she screamed.

“I—I thought I could help them… I thought they could be saved!”

“They’re dead!! They were dead the whole time and you let them suffer!!! Look at her! She’s dead!!” Beth pounded her fists against her father’s chest, his pieces shattered more with every hit.

“Bethy stop!” Maggie yelled.

“And Sophia?? You knew she was there the whole time and you never said nothin’!! People got hurt lookin’ for her and she was dead the whole time!”

“I didn’t know. Otis put those people in the barn, he must’ve found her and put her in there before he was killed.”

“Liar… You’re nothin’ but a liar…”

“Bethany,” Hershel pleaded.

“No, stay away from me. All of you stay away from me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: 3 and a half funerals 
> 
> This one's a little short, but I felt like it needed to be its own chapter. The next one might take a little bit longer to finish. Thanks for stickin' with it xxx
> 
> Happy Holidays!


	15. Psalm 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning: It's a sad one.

Sitting at the vanity in her bedroom, Beth noticed the reflection in her mirror seemed less and less like a _her_ that she recognized. She didn’t know that person; the angry one, the sad one, the motherless one with a father who lies to her and a sister who treats her like she’s incapable in spite of it all. _New Beth_ ’s eyes were emptier; her skin was thicker, but her heart was colder.

Her hair fell in damp waves over her shoulders, still in tangles where the walker— the former Mrs. Annette Greene—had it wrapped around her bony fingers. She worked the knots out with her fingers until the brush didn’t catch anymore and pressed the little power button on her purple curling iron.

There would be a funeral that afternoon in the yard under the dogwood trees, Patricia told her through the door she refused to open. Beth wondered idly if their rotting bodies would pollute the soil; if the trees would be just another new world casualty killed by the same disease that’d eventually kill them all. Like any good, southern folk, the Greene family spent a lot of Sundays in the wooden church pews listening to sermons about an Almighty and all-loving God—the kind of God who offers hope and light and protection for His people— and the promise of the kingdom of Heaven. Eighteen years of churchgoing flew out the window the moment her mother’s eyes opened and there was nothing behind them; no loving God would do that, she thought, the kingdom of Heaven was nowhere near the Greene family barn. Beth decided that if there was a God, he hadn’t been around in a long time.

The bag she’d been carrying since Atlanta, a floral printed duffle bag part of a larger luggage set her mother owned, sat untouched in the corner of her room. She never unpacked it; they didn’t do that anymore. The same way she slept with her boots next to her bed and her knife on her bedside table. She picked up the bag, unzipped the top, and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto her bed, a few old world remnants— her wallet, a lip gloss, and a receipt for the coffee she bought her last morning in the _before_ — mixed in with the survival gear. The dress caught the sun and shimmered as she pulled it from the bottom of the bag, still wrapped in the same plastic the woman at the boutique placed it in when she’d bought it the day before the world ended. There was no blood, no dirt, no tears, only blush pink fabric and jewels and the memory of twirling in an Atlanta fitting room while Jimmy and Maggie laughed and sipped overpriced coffee. Beth hung the dress on the back of her door and sat back in front of her vanity to get ready for the funeral as if it were the prom she never got to have.

* * *

Daryl sat awake all night at the little table in the RV keeping quiet watch over a crying Carol. He told Carol he’d find her, and he didn’t. He said he’d save her, and she was dead. If Hershel was telling the truth, if Otis put those _people_ in the barn, then she’d been in there since before Carl was shot. In all likelihood, Sophia never even made it out of the creek Rick left her in. She was never holed up in that farmhouse, she never made it back to the road to see the sign they left for her, she probably died in that creek and her doll floated downstream into the ravine where he’d found it and that was that— he’d been chasing a ghost through the woods the whole time. He wanted _so bad_ for her to be alive not just for her sake, but for Carol’s, and Carl’s, and everyone’s, and maybe even for his own; for the parts of them all that needed to cling to the old world beliefs that little girls didn’t die and mothers didn’t cry themselves to sleep and big brothers lived forever.

There would be a funeral that afternoon in the yard under the dogwood trees, Lori told him, peeking her head in the RV doorway and hesitating before ducking back out.

“Daryl? Are you alright?”

He looked up for a moment, met her gaze, and looked away. Lori nodded and left him alone with Carol’s soft cries and a flower wilting in an old bottle on the table in front of him.

* * *

Beth was 9 years old when her aunt Claire died of cancer. She remembered her funeral, the way the church looked all full of flowers and photographs, the itchy black dress her mother made her wear, and the way her uncle’s voice broke as he talked about Claire being the love of his life; it made her angry. Shawn wouldn’t get a proper funeral. Her mother wouldn’t get a proper funeral. There’d be no flowers; no pictures; no preacher. No itchy black dress. Her father could talk all he wanted about how much he loved them, but it’d all be lies. If you love someone you don’t make them suffer. If you love someone you don’t leave them to rot.

The dress fit looser than she remembered. Annette had never gotten to see it; it was supposed to be a surprise. Beth would come home from Atlanta, run up to her room, put it on, spin circles in the living room with Shawn, who she’d rope in to being her reluctant dance partner, and let her mother primp and preen and tell stories about dressing up for dances when she was Beth’s age. Then, the world ended. Back at the CDC, in the half a moment right after it blew up, Beth wondered if she’d made the right choice in leaving. She told Daryl the night they’d gone looking for Sophia that she was glad she hadn’t stayed and at that moment she had been, but things change. In the new moment—the one where she was zipping herself into her prom dress to go to her mother and brother and honorary little sister’s funeral, she wasn’t so sure.

* * *

Carol refused to go to the funeral, and it pissed him off. Or, it made him sad and angry and confused and frustrated at her, himself, and everyone else, and, rather than dealing with those feelings like a well-adjusted adult, he was pissed off. Pissed was easier, familiar; he knew pissed.

On one level he understood Carol’s refusal, he even agreed with her to an extent—the _thing_ in the barn wasn’t Sophia, Sophia had been dead a long time. But it _was_ her; it _had been_ , it _used to be_ , and the Sophia that _used to be_ still needed her mother. The Sophia that _thing_ used to be deserved to rest peacefully and Daryl was going to make damn sure that she did, even if her mother wouldn’t. So, he placed her body in the little grave himself, setting her down as gently as he could in the hole Andrea dug. She was wrapped up in an old pink sheet Maggie pulled out of a cupboard in the house and her doll was tucked in with her as if she were sleeping, not dead. If not for the rot, the bite, and the bullet hole between her eyes, she might have even looked peaceful. It was the third funeral in as many months and, secretly, he wasn’t sure how many more he could handle.

* * *

Even in the shade, it was hot, but with the birds singing and the leaves rustling, it was an almost perfect afternoon. Picturesque even-- if they’d been there to do anything else. The screen door opened with a crack and the springs hissed closed as the Greene’s plus Jimmy and Patricia stepped outside to join the group. Hershel wore a suit and clutched a Bible to his chest. At his side, Maggie’s black dress fluttered in the breeze and Patricia held her hand. Jimmy stood near them looking a little bit sad and a little bit lost.

Beth’s absence registered immediately as Daryl found himself seeking her out in the gathered group. He hadn’t seen her since she ran away from the barn the night before and he’d heard through the others’ hushed tones that she’d refused to speak to anyone and wouldn’t leave her room.

“Should I go check on her?” Lori asked Maggie in the same maternal voice she’d used on Daryl earlier.

“She’ll be here. Just—Just give her a minute…”

They stood in front of the graves wearing their best brave faces and waited.

* * *

Gravel crunched under Beth’s sneakers catching everyone’s attention as she stepped off the porch. The midday sun looked dull in light of her.

Her hair fell in long, golden curls around her shoulders and her dress swished around her ankles as she marched across the yard. She kept her head held high but even from a distance, it was clear she was fighting back tears. The group offered weak smiles and nods as she passed. They went unreturned. Carefully, Beth placed frame photographs of Annette and Shawn at the head of each of their graves and her favorite teddy bear from childhood on Sophia’s. Dodging touches and hugs and platitudes, she stood at the opposite end of the semi-circle of mourners surrounding the graves—as far away from the rest of her family as possible. 

Hershel looked over to her and she met his gaze with an intensity that made his shift. He opened his Bible, took a step forward, and read;

_God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [Beth's dress](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/68/22/d1/6822d18b2d97b6cd14baa821cd9d5e04.jpg) if you're curious. I needed a reference and I feel like it suits her. 
> 
> We'll be back to our regularly scheduled fluff soon, scout's honor. xxx


	16. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude II: It's not that it's filler, it's that I realized the next chapter doesn't make chronological sense if I don't tie up a couple of loose ends real quick. So here's a tiny bit of fluff to make up for needing an entire chapter to address things I forgot to address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately following the funeral...

_“I have to get out of here…Can we get outta here…?”_

After carefully considering the disapproving looks her family sent his way and deciding that he both didn’t give a shit and could do for some time apart from the group himself—Daryl nodded, and they fell into step beside each other.

Beth walked with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, holding all of her pieces together. She hadn’t cried during the funeral and had no intention of starting any time soon. Daryl was upset; she could see it in the way he curled and uncurled his hand into a fist as his side trying to release some of the tension that’d been building all day. Neither spoke as they walked a narrow, winding path through the woods, crossing the property boundary into a chunk of land Beth hadn’t ever been in before. 

A mile or so later, the path widened as they entered a clearing, and Beth’s eyes lit up as she took in the scene. A small pond sat just off-center surrounded by wildflowers mixed in with the tall grass. When she said she wanted to get away from the farm she hadn’t expected to walk into something out of a fairy tale; not that she was complaining as she listened to the frog’s croak and watched the sunlight shine on the surface of the water. For the first time in a long time, she felt something, really _felt_ something. Suddenly, she realized that while she’d stopped in the middle of the path, Daryl continued down closer to the water’s edge where taller, white flowers peeked out from the grass.

“Come look,” he called over his shoulder.

She knew exactly what it was she was he’d wanted her to see without having to be told.

“Cherokee roses…” Mindful of the thorns, Beth picked one and tucked it into her hair before taking another and twirling the stem between in her fingers. She watched Daryl move even closer to the edge of the pond, his boots sent small ripples over the surface. He crouched down, collected a handful of rocks, and examined each one carefully. Standing again, he tossed the rock in his hand a few times before throwing it out over the water. Beth watched the rock skip across the pond and land with a wet _plop_.

* * *

Toeing off her shoes and gathering the bottom of her dress in her hands, Beth stepped into the pond and walked out to the center. She dropped the bunched fabric and let it pool where the water rose to her knees. Maybe it was finally being away from the farm again; maybe it was knowing that she’d gone through the entire funeral without crying, or imagining that those particular flowers were blooming just for her, or the crushing weight of the last 3 months bearing down on her shoulders—whatever it was, it sent her resolve reeling. Tears pricked in the back of her eyes and she held her head in her hands.

Beth’s sobs echoed through the clearing. The desperate, miserable, chest-rattling kind of sobbing that sounds more like screaming and doesn’t bring tears because there’s just nothing left to cry out.

* * *

They sat on a log along the water’s edge. Beth’s eyes were red-rimmed, and the bottom half of her dress took on a swampy color from the water. Daryl sat next to her with her head on his shoulder. He twirled one of her curls around his finger and wondered to himself how it was that he kept finding himself in the same situation over and over; sitting next to Beth Greene, hiding from the other’s, having no idea what the hell he’s doing but knowing he’s in way over his head. Back in the quarry, in Atlanta at the CDC, the night on the road looking for Sophia, he thought Beth was only hanging around him to make Maggie angry or Jimmy jealous. He figured she’d decided that he was as good a symbol of pissed off teenage rebellion as any in a world where getting a nose ring or dyeing your hair green wasn’t really an option anymore. Something changed along the way, he suspected.

The Merle in his head said it was only a matter of time before she _“got sick of slummin’ it and ran back to her All-American, corn-fed boyfriend and the rest of her uppity, rich-folk family,”_ and for the most part, Daryl decided he was okay with that if it meant she’d hang around until then. He liked having her around—the sappy, hopeful part of him hoped that maybe she felt the same.

* * *

“I’m so scared I’m gonna wake up one day and not remember them. Like, their voices or… What if I forget what they looked like…?”

“You won’t,” Daryl said around the cigarette in his mouth. He flicked the lighter again and, again, it wouldn’t light. He frowned, flipped it closed, banged it against his hand, and tried it again.

“I just don’t want my only memory to be them comin’ out of the barn…”

Daryl fiddled with his lighter a little longer before it finally caught. He lit his cigarette and said, “I remember my ma still.”

“Good memories?”

“Some. Remember what she looked like though and it’s been like 17, 18 years or somethin’. So, you won’t forget.”

“What was her name?”

He hesitated, not entirely sure that was the road he wanted to go down. There were only so many family-related topics he could discuss or questions he could answer before it started getting into the stuff that he just didn’t talk about—didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t even if he wanted.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me or anythin’ if it’s too—”

“Lorna June. Good ol' southern double names...”

“That’s real pretty,” she smiled. Daryl made a sound like he agreed but didn’t look back at her.

“I’m named after my mama.”

“Thought her name was Annette?”

“It is. My middle name’s Annette.”

“Are you Elizabeth or Bethany?”

“Bethany. Bethany Annette Greene.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he smirked, “Even your name’s pretty.”

“You’re so dumb,” she said, shoving his shoulder lightly with her own.

“Name callin’ ain’t nice.”

“ _I_ ain’t nice.” Beth reached out, taking the cigarette from his fingers and putting it to her lips. Daryl turned to her, eyebrow raised in question, as she looked him up and down in defiance. He felt like an ass. It was the worst day of her life, one of the worst of his, and all he could think was that she looked beautiful. Sitting there on a log in a field, wearing a muddy prom dress, smoking a pilfered cigarette, makeup smeared all around her eyes—she looked beautiful.

* * *

With him on the first step and her on the porch, they were the same height, eye to eye. Behind her, only the screen door was closed and the light from inside illuminated her. She knew whoever was inside could likely see them and she knew he knew that too, but neither of them really cared—not at that moment, at least. Beth leaned in and pressed her forehead to his, the loose strands of her hair tickled his nose.

“Beth?” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Beth?” she snorted, swiping at tears that seemed to be on the edge of spilling over no matter what. “Just Beth? Not Greene or princess or prom queen or sunshine or any of the other stuff you usually call me? I’m just Beth now?”

Daryl felt his cheeks heat up and knew his face must’ve been bright red. He looked away, embarrassed that she’d called him out on his teasing—that’s all it was, right? Teasing? —and mumbled an incoherent apology.

“No! I mean—it’s okay I just…” She let out a shuddering breath before continuing, “Everyone’s walkin’ on eggshells around me, I don’t want you to start treatin’ me different too, okay?”

He nodded, “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Priss.” 

“Come in with me?”

“No way, I don’t really wanna eat buckshot for dinner.”

“My daddy won’t shoot you.”

“No, but your sister might.”

She smiled at that—a real smile, one that went all the way up to her eyes and made the blue look even bluer.

“Good night, Dixon…” Beth leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, just like the night in the guest room. If he was half as brave as she was he might’ve kissed her back—but he wasn’t, and he didn’t.

“Night, Greene...”

* * *

The door shut behind her and Beth was suddenly confronted again by a home that didn’t feel like home. She had half a mind to ask Daryl if she could stay with him or set up a tent with the other members of the group in the front yard, but it wouldn’t do any good; there was no escaping the feeling of non-belonging, the entire farm from the pastures to the barn to the house was her home, and she was a stranger in all of it.

She left her damp shoes in the front hall and headed for the stairs; she’d made it halfway up when a voice from the kitchen stopped her.

“Hershel?” Patricia opened the kitchen door and spotted Beth. “Oh, Beth! Maggie, it’s Beth!”

Her sister stormed into the room and up the stairs to her, pulling her into a tight hug, “Beth I was scared! You were gone all day, no one knew where you went, we were gonna go look for you if you weren’t back by dark.” Maggie pulled back and looked her over.

“Beth? What happened? Are you okay? You’re wet and why do you smell like cigarettes, have you been smoking?”

“I’m tired, Mags, I wanna go to bed.”

“Did something happen? You can tell me if something happened…”

“Nothin’ happened, where’s daddy?”

“He left, earlier. Rick and Glenn went to go find him, they think he went to Hatlin’s, that bar in town.”

Beth gave a humorless laugh and shook her head. She climbed the rest of the stairs and went to her room without another word.

* * *

Daryl set up his new camp next to what was once an outdoor fireplace but had since become nothing more than a half-ruined pile of stone brick. He needed to put some distance between himself and the group. There was a good chance Hershel would wind up kicking them all off of his property anyway, and Daryl would need to decide if he’d stay with the quarry group or try his hand at getting back to Ellijay by himself, see if the old man and the house weren’t both still standing. Getting attached wouldn’t serve anyone any good, he learned that lesson the hard way with Sophia and was already testing his luck with Beth.

He sat in front of the fire, shaping a stick into a bolt with his knife. It wasn’t like he was hard up for ammo, but the farm had turkeys he could use for fletching, and, more than anything, it gave him something to do with his hands. Carol and Lori approached him the same way one might approach a wild animal, with caution and distance between them.

“Moving to the suburbs?” Lori asked.

“Do you need somethin’ or do you just like the pleasure of my company?”

“Hershel’s gone. He took off after the funeral and hasn’t been back.”

“Rick and Glenn went to look for him at a bar in town almost 2 hours ago and they aren’t back yet either,” Carol explained.

“Your story got a moral?”

“We need you to go look for them.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, if Hershel wants to go get shit-faced that ain’t my problem and I’m not about to make it my problem neither.”

“You can’t push us all away,” Carol said.

“Will you just leave me be?”

“No, you can’t shut down. Not right now, we need you. I need you, I don’t want to lose you too, Daryl.”

“And what about Beth?” Lori added.

“What about her?”

“You know she has a boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah, and the sky’s blue.”

Lori sighed, “You know what I mean.”

“Ain’t any of my business just like it ain’t any of yours.”

“You’re making her your business and that’s her father, they could be hurt. You’re being selfish!”

“Selfish? Listen to me, Olive Oyl. I was out there looking for that little girl every single day,” he stood and took a step towards Lori who took a step back in turn, “I took a bullet and an arrow in the process. Don't you tell me about me getting my hands dirty!”

“Daryl, I—”

“You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride. I'm done looking for people.”

* * *

Back in the same room looking at herself in the same mirror—makeup running, dress covered in pond water, a flower tucked behind her ear—she said her name over and over until it became just another sound blending in with the settling house and the chirping crickets.

_Beth_

_Beth_

_Beth_

_Bethany_

_Bethany Annette Greene_

She didn’t know who that person was anymore. All she ever wanted to be was strong, but maybe in the new world strong meant knowing when to call it quits. Knowing when the fight is over, when there just isn’t anything left.

In one motion she swiped a perfume bottle off of the vanity and threw it at the mirror, watching that _other Beth’s_ reflection shatter and fall to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little all over the place, but there were a few things I needed to add in and a couple of loose ends to tie up before we could move on. The next chapter will actually be good. 
> 
> [Here's the picture I used as a referece for the pond](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fnpplan.com%2Fparks-by-state%2Fvirginia-national-parks%2Fprince-william-forest-park-park-at-a-glance%2Fprince-william-forest-park-hiking-trails%2Fprince-william-forest-park-carters-pond-trail%2F&psig=AOvVaw2HyNWlC2bygYCA3VkFVa9j&ust=1609788607442000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCICe_YbAgO4CFQAAAAAdAAAAABBF)
> 
> They kiss in the next one. xxx


	17. Bethany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Content Warning: See End Notes for Details***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Content Warning******

Beth woke up in bed; showered and changed with a crisp, white bandage wrapped around her wrist and only a vague memory of how she got there. On her left, Maggie slept in a chair they must’ve carried up from the living room sometime during the night. She looked absolutely exhausted—if a little uncomfortable—slouched over with her head resting on a throw pillow at the foot of the bed. Beth leaned over and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Maggie’s ear when she stirred. It seemed like all they'd done lately was argue, but Maggie was always there when it mattered.

When they were younger and fought about everything and nothing and things that felt life or death but were really inconsequential at best, Annette would say _“in the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. Y’all wouldn’t be as good without each other.”_ Then, with a smirk, she’d add, _“besides, who else is gonna put up with you?”_ Beth could hear that memory in her mother’s voice and decided Daryl was right; she wouldn’t forget.

She sat up slowly, careful not to put too much weight on the bandaged arm, and tried to fight through the fog that seemed to have settled between her thoughts. Sophomore year, she read an article in English class about a man who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge; he said that the minute his feet left the ground he wished they hadn’t. At the time, she didn’t understand it— how could living be an eleventh-hour decision? How could dying even be an option? That was then.

Watching the little shards of glass glinting between the floorboards beneath the broken mirror, she got it. Because she didn’t want to _die_ either she just wanted capital-i _It_ to stop. She wanted to be in control of _something_ in a world that was rapidly spiraling out of control, but you can’t be in control when your feet aren’t on the ground. What she really wanted was, for a moment, to be still. Her wrist throbbed in time with her heartbeat; _alive, alive, alive_. Alive means suffering through the bad to get to the good and using the good to cushion the bad. Alive is hard but there was no one more capable of doing hard things than Beth.

* * *

Three mornings later, Beth rose before the sun and tip-toed downstairs to watch the sunrise from the porch swing. For the first time in months, she was starting to feel like herself again. The little, mundane chores around the farm that bored her to tears _before_ —watering the garden, feeding the chickens, collecting eggs—brought her the most comfort. Those tasks were the last stable islands in a churning sea of uncertainty; there will always be eggs to gather, there will always be weeds to pull, the book reread five times will always end the same.

Beth walked through the camp under the oak trees in the yard on her way back from the chicken coop. She handed off eggs to T Dog who accepted them with a smile she felt alright enough to return and caught brief flashes of the others going through their morning routine; watch shift change on top of the RV, Glenn trying and failing to look like he _hadn’t_ spent most of the night with Maggie, Shane and Andrea confirming plans for a run later in the day. Daryl wasn’t there. She figured he wouldn’t be since he moved his own camp out to pasture, but she’d still hoped to catch him before he went to hunt or do whatever else he did. They hadn’t spoken since the night he walked her back home after the funeral and the pond and the moment they’d had on the porch. A part of her felt like he was avoiding her—in reality, he was avoiding everyone, and they were letting him, but she couldn’t not it a little bit personally.

“Doing okay, honey?” Carol asked as Beth passed her near the clothesline.

“I’m doin’ better, thanks. What about you?”

“Doing better,” she agreed. Beth wrapped an arm around Carol’s waist in a half-hug, mindful of the eggs she was carrying. Carol squeezed her back and placed a quick kiss at the crown of her head. It was reassuring, something her mom would’ve done, and it was nice to know that even after everything that’d been taken from her, she’d been gotten a few good things too.

Hershel was leaned against the counter drinking coffee in the kitchen when Beth returned. She kissed his cheek and asked, “Should I put these away,” gesturing at the eggs, “or leave them out for you and Patricia?”

“Leave them out, that’s fine.”

“Okay!” She left the basket on the counter opposite Hershel and went to grab a bag from the hall closet. Back in the kitchen, she could feel Hershel’s eyes on her as she took apples from the refrigerator and slipped them into her bag. They didn’t have many left and the ones in the orchard wouldn’t be ready to pick for another 2 months, but she figured if she cut them up there’d be enough for everyone— “everyone” being the horses, of course. She could understand that her father was worried and chose not to hold the hesitant look he gave her against him.

“Bye, Daddy,” she smiled and slipped back out the door.

* * *

Heather was a palomino mare; her mother’s horse. Shawn used to joke that Heather only liked Annette and Beth because they were all blondes. She quartered the apple with her knife and gave it to her slice by slice, running a brush through her mane in the meantime. Focused on the task at hand and mumbling a Dolly Parton song to herself, she didn’t notice Jimmy had entered the stables until he spoke.

“Hey, Beth.”

Caught off guard she gasped and raised her knife on instinct before her brain caught up with the situation.

“Jesus Christ, Jimmy!” lowering the knife and putting a hand over her racing heart, “You scared the hell outta me!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“What are you doin’ out here?” She picked up the brush from where it’d fallen to the ground and, after plucking out the pieces of hay that stuck to it, went back to brushing the horse. Jimmy came all the way into the stables and leaned against the stall door next to her.

“I just wanted to see you. I was worried about you.”

“There’s nothin’ to worry about, Jimmy. I’m fine, honest.”

“We’re okay then?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You know… Things have been…” He trailed off and Beth stopped what she was doing to turn to him.

“Things have been bad, but you’re still my friend. We’ve been best friends since we were kids. That doesn’t have to change.” The look on his face told Beth he’d caught her meaning. Friends— _best friends_ —but not anything more. Not anymore, at least. She hadn’t, however, seen his next question coming.

“Is it because of Daryl?”

“Daryl?”

“Yeah I mean you guys are…Close…”

“It’s not about him,” she lied.

Is a lie still a lie if it’s based in truth? Because it really wasn’t about Daryl, not entirely. Beth had been thinking about breaking up with Jimmy since the quarry, maybe since even before that, and it had nothing to do with Daryl—until it did. The day he’d gotten shot she was so terrified that she would lose him. She had Maggie and Hershel and Jimmy and the others, but Daryl was different. The two had come to a sort of unspoken understanding where she didn’t look at him like he was _less than_ the others and he wouldn’t treat her like she was weak. It was part of the reason why she was afraid that he was avoiding her, maybe he’d realized that she was weak after all and didn’t know how to face her.

More than that, though, Daryl was nice to her; nicer than he was to anyone else in the group except maybe Carol. He seemed to like talking to her and listening to her talk—the latter more than the former. They joked; he wasn’t so serious around her. He brought her flowers, he took her to the pond when she wanted to get away, he apologized to Nelly because she told him to. He let her hold his hand and put her head on his shoulder and play with his hair and _kiss him_ and she _wanted_ to do all of those things. Maybe it _was_ about Daryl; not entirely, but more than she’d realized.

“It’s not about him,” she repeated, a little less convinced than she'd been a moment ago

“Right…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Content Warning: Mentions of and references to suicide/self-harm thoughts and behaviors. No graphic depictions, no blood.****
> 
> Housekeeping things: Okay so I lied, they kiss in the NEXT one. Otherwise, this chapter would've been pushing 4k words and I try to keep them around 2k ish for my own sanity; I can only write so fast and I'm trying to stay a chapter ahead of what gets posted. But I feel like the revelatory moment at the end makes up for it and I feel like we needed more Beth perspective?  
> Also, I start back at uni next week but I have every intention of continuing this story. My goal is to update once a week or so? Don't quote me on that.
> 
> Up next: The Randall Situation and the kiss, for real this time.
> 
> Thanks xxx


	18. Knuckles

“Everyone’s meetin’ here in a little while to talk about Randall.”

“What about Randall?” Beth helped Maggie move one of the living room loveseats against the back wall to make space for all the people. Her understanding of the Randall Situation was that there was a Randall Situation. From the hushed conversation she’d picked up bits and pieces of, she knew that he was somewhere in between her and Maggie’s ages and went to the same high school as them—not that that meant a whole lot since just about every student in the county went to East Coweta High School. But he’d claimed to know Maggie, and knowing Maggie meant knowing or knowing of Hershel, and being the best vet in the county meant everyone knew the farm where Hershel lived and worked. That was a problem.

“I have no idea; this is all second hand to me. Glenn said that Rick said there was some information we all need to discuss.”

“Just information?”

“Yeah, I guess Daryl _talked_ to him.”

“What do you mean _talked_?” The emphasis Maggie placed on the word made the hair on Beth’s neck stand up straight. 

“All Glenn said was that Rick had Daryl talkin’ to the guy and that we’d all talk about it later.”

* * *

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Come on, man!”

“Answer the question.”

  
“I already told you I—”

“You ain’t told me shit!”

Daryl didn’t feel _good_ about beating up the kid, but they needed information and he knew how to get it. Dirty work; that’s what he was good for. He punched him again, his fist connecting with Randall’s nose.

“How many in your group?”

“30—30—There’s 30 guys!”

“Women and children?”

“Just men. They aren’t—they don’t treat women right, you know? Use ‘em and toss ‘em out b-but I ain’t like that, man! I’m just tryin’ to survive same as you!”

“Where’s your camp?”

“I don’t know, we moved around a lot. They could be 3 states over by now for all I—”

Daryl interrupted him with another swift kick to the ribs. “You’ll wanna quit bullshittin’ me if you plan on keepin’ your teeth, man!”

“I swear I don’t know where they are!”

“Fine then, where _was_ your camp last time you saw it?”

“Out near the 16. Made camp on the overpass for a night before we hit the town, but I don’t know if they’re still there, honest I don’t!”

“Guess you can hang on to your incisors, for now,” Daryl said, he hit Randall one more time hard in his temple and watched him slump down on the floor unconscious.

* * *

Daryl wiped the blood from his hand with his red bandana and did up the buttons on a cleaner shirt; he’d have to clean up properly later, but he knew everyone already looked at him like he crazy and he didn’t want to give them anything else to look at. Rick and Shane were waiting for him at the RV. Daryl hadn’t done more than talk briefly in passing to any member of the group in days since he moved to his own camp out in the field. He still hunted for them, kept watch for them, hell, he was willing to beat the shit out of some guy to protect them, but he didn’t want to be close to them. To him, it was better to cut the cord sooner rather than wait around for it all to blow up in his face later.

He had his suspicions about how the group meeting was going to go. Shane would, presumably, want to just kill Randall and have it be over with; Rick would disagree, Lori would side with him while Andrea sided with Shane, the rest would try to find some magically third option between letting him live and killing him like a rabid coyote, and nothing would actually be accomplished or decided. Daryl was only even attending their stupid fireside chat at Rick’s insistence.

“You’re a part of this group, your voice counts too,” he’d said. But it didn’t; or, Daryl didn’t think it did. He didn’t want to see the guy killed, but he wasn't like Rick; he didn’t have a wife or a kid or a family at stake. Whatever the others decided to do, Daryl would go along with it. It’s just what he did.

* * *

Around sundown that evening, the 15—minus Carl—members of the group and Hershel’s family squeezed into the Greene living room. The fireplace gave the room a cozy feeling, except for the tension that hung heavy in the air. Daryl stood in the entryway leaned against one of the walls, hoping his physical distance would convey his disinterest in participating in that particular forum. Carol smiled at him when he’d entered the house and he offered her a nod in return, they hadn’t really spoken since they argued in the stables, and then after she and Lori came to him concerned about Rick, Hershel, and Glenn. He said some things he shouldn’t have and, while it didn’t seem like she was holding it against him, he still hung onto a little bit of guilt.

Across the room, Beth sat on the far side of one of the couches; her legs crossed underneath her as she fiddled with a loose thread on her cutoffs. The sunset and the fireplace made her hair look sort of orangish and he knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it. He saw the bandage peeking out from beneath her shirt sleeve and the guilty feeling set in again. They hadn’t spoken since the night they'd gone to the pond and, if he was going to be honest with himself for once, he kind of missed having her around. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her, he just had no idea what to say. Or, maybe he was avoiding her a little bit, but he was avoiding _everyone_ —hard to maintain cool detachment if you’re letting people in.

The individual conversations died down as Rick took to the floor, effectively calling the meeting to order.

“So, we all know the situation, why we’re here. Now, we have to figure out what to do about it.”

* * *

_If he was standing any further away, he’d be out the door_ , Beth thought as she watched Daryl chew on his thumbnail and look intensely uncomfortable from her spot next to Maggie and Glenn on the couch. She knew he was looking at her and she looked right back; the back and forth reminded her a little of the spaghetti dinner at the CDC when she and Daryl took turns taking not-so-secret glances at each other from across the table. It was the first time they’d even been in the same room with each other in going on 4 days and, as she braided a few loose threads on her shorts, she wondered if he’d thought about her at all or if her presence in his periphery had gone unmissed.

Returning to the task at hand, making a decision about Randall. Beth wasn’t _supposed_ to be a part of the meeting, but good luck to anyone who decided to tell _her_ that. Rick said he wanted to get everyone on the same page and then, as a group, they could decide where to go from there.

“He’s from a group that's been driftin’ and scavengin’ since the beginning more or less,” Rick addressed the room with a manner of speech that reminded Beth he’d been a police officer before; serious but assured. “It’s 30 men—no women, no kids—and from what he’s said, they aren’t exactly friendly.”

“How do we know that?” Dale asked.

“You’re tellin’ me Randall just offered up info on his people? Just like that?” T Dog questioned, looking between Rick and Shane.

“He told Daryl earlier.” Every eye turned in Daryl’s direction and he struggled not to squirm under the microscope.

“What did you do?”

“Had a little chat,” Daryl grumbled.

“And what exactly did he say during your ‘little chat’?”

“Got a gang, 30 men. They have heavy artillery and they ain't lookin’ to make friends. He told me a story; about the last group they ran into. They roll through here; our boys are dead. And our women—they’re gonna wish they were.”

“Look, y’all. We have no choice. He's a threat. We have to eliminate the threat,” Shane said. Daryl was relieved to have the weight of everyone’s stares off of him for a while.

“But you can't just decide on your own to take someone's life!”

“I’m not, that’s why we’re all here. To make the tough decisions.”

“There's gotta be a—a process of some kind.”

“And what would that be? We can't call witnesses, go before a judge.”

“So you have the details beaten out of him and then decide he’s guilty by association? Sentence him to death over whatever he said under duress??” Dale’s outrage was palpable; everyone’s was and, as expected, the discussion dragged on with little ground covered.

* * *

Beth excused herself from the room at around the same time the “needs of the many vs the needs of the few” argument was raised; she didn’t need to hear anymore. The whole thing was a grim reminder of the reality of the new world; they needed to choose whether or not they should end someone’s life on the chance that it might prevent them from losing their own later on.

The sun had well and truly set by the time they called it quits, agreeing to sleep on it before reconvening for a final decision. Rick and Hershel moved their conversation to Hershel’s office while the others talked amongst themselves some, more than a little unsettled by the night's conversation and not ready to have to face “sleeping on it.” Beth stopped Daryl before he could slip out of the house and back into his policy of strict avoidance.

“Hey." She placed reached out and touched his arm, not letting the flinch deter her.

“Hey yourself.”

“I haven’t seen you around much.”

“Been busy,” he said, keeping his attention focused on the scrapped knuckle he picked at with his other hand.

“Busy moving your camp across the county line?”

“I didn’t—”

“C’mon,” she said, taking mercy on him, “Let me clean up your hand.” Before he could respond—not that he needed to, she knew what he’d say—she took his hand and led him into the kitchen.

“It’s fine, Greene.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Daryl sat in a chair at the table while Beth rifled through cabinets, pulling out a small first aid kit and a towel from a drawer near the sink. She turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get warm, as warm as the end of the world allowed it to get that is.

“I can take care of myself.”

  
“I know,” she ran the towel under the water and wrung it out twice, “you don’t have to, though.” Beth brought the towel and the first aid kit to the table and took the chair nearest to his. Daryl let her take his hand again and gently wash away the dried blood. The stinging in his knuckles was a familiar sensation. It hurt, but in a welcome sort of way. The kind of pain that said, “if you can feel this, you must be alive.” He figured she must know what he’d done to Randall and was beyond thankful that she didn’t bring it up. He did what he did because he had to; that was enough for him, but he didn’t know if she’d see it that way and he didn’t really want to find out.

Instead, she asked about his tattoo—the little star on his hand—and he told her about the party he’d been at with the guy who was offering free tattoos because he’d wanted to “practice.” He left out, of course, the part where the guy had actually stolen the tattoo gun as part of a B&E a few days before and that he was so drunk that night he didn’t even remember getting the tattoo until he saw it on his hand the next day and that he’d been 15 at the time. What he _did_ tell her about that night— about the wildly misspelled Bible verse that ended up on Merle’s ribcage— made her laugh, and she told him she always wanted a tattoo but knew her mother would’ve killed her if she’d gotten one.

Beth’s hand was soft against his own as she wiped away the blood caught in the lines in his palm and wound the bandage around his hand. When she finished, she took Daryl’s hand in both of hers and said, “All better!” with a smile that made him feel like everything was actually all better.

“Thanks, nurse,” he teased.

“You’re welcome!”

Daryl wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she was still holding his hand or the knowledge that someone could walk by at any moment that made his heart race.

“You okay?” she asked

“Mmhmm gotta be. Are you..?” His eyes flicked from hers to the bandage hiding beneath her shirt sleeve and back.

“I’m okay. I mean, I didn’t… I don’t actually want to—I thought I did but…”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah you’re too stubborn to die, Greene,” he smirked. She laughed but he could see the relief on her face; as if she’d expected him to pass judgment on her—as if he was in any position to judge anyone. “All this shit’s tough but, you’re tougher.”

If there were any silver lining to be found in the apocalypse it’d be in the fact living that the end of one world didn’t preclude the beginning of another one; that living through the end meant having a say in what the new beginning looked like. A world for and by people who’ve survived and, for their efforts, get to decide for themselves moment by moment what it means to live, to be brave, to be strong, to be tough.

In that moment—at that table in that house on that farm—Beth decided that being brave meant closing the space between herself and Daryl and pressing her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn, baby. Low and slow. 18 chapters in and we've finally got a kiss. 
> 
> So, I've got at least one more chapter set on the farm. It's pretty fluffy. After that, I'm thinkin we'll skip the farm getting overrun-- or run through very quickly as part of another chapter since there isn't really anything I'd change about it from canon-- and jump into the winter on the road? There's that moment in the prison when Beth and Carl talk about staying in storage units that were pretty gross, might be fun to unpack that. Tentative, ch. 19 will be the last one on the farm (end of canon season 2), ch. 20 will start on the road (between seasons 2 and 3), and we'll get to the prison when we get there? 
> 
> Cool, good talk xxx


	19. Scout's Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Warning: Canon Typical Violence***

He had a deer in the headlights look on his face—completely bemused. Bewildered. Baffled. Like someone slapped him and then immediately gave him a million dollars; like he’d arrived at a funeral only to find out it was being held at a circus; like a pretty girl just kissed him in her daddy’s kitchen. She found it endearing, the blush that crept up his face and settled into the tips of his ears.

His bandaged hand came up to cup her cheek. It didn’t hurt anymore—maybe the shock was an adequate distraction or maybe nothing could ever hurt if Beth was around. He kissed her back; her lips tasted like canned pears.

Somewhere in the house, a door slammed, and Hershel’s voice filtered into the kitchen. Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin. The chair, adding insult to injury, scraped against the floor loud enough to be heard on the other side of the county.

“I—uh—I should go…” Daryl Dixon could hit a walker between the eyes from 50 yards but couldn’t look little ol’ Beth Greene in hers.

“Uh-huh,” she laughed. “Better not start avoidin’ me again, Dixon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

* * *

The night was especially muggy. The kind of humid that covers you like a thick wool blanket, tangling around your ankles as you try to kick it away. Georgia summers were always long, hot, and unforgiving. Having split his time between his father’s cabin which only had air conditioning as often as it had electricity or hot water—not often—and the forest just beyond its doors, Daryl was used to the early August broil. Being used to something is not, however, the same thing as liking it.

He sat underneath the tree beside his tent in his camp separate from the others carving sticks into arrow shafts and considering all the other things he was used to but didn’t like and a few things he could _definitely get used to_ —kissing Beth, for one—when a snapping twig brought him back to reality. Daryl was up in an instant, knife at the ready. He could hear the footsteps before he could see who they belonged. It wasn’t late, but the sun was down, and the small fire only offered so much light.

“You gonna stab me?” A voice in the dark asked.

The figure came into view a few feet from the fire. Daryl lowered his knife and sat back down where he’d been before the unwelcome interruption with a muttered, “Jesus Christ…”

“Might do,” Daryl said, “If you keep creepin’ around in the dark like that.”

* * *

In another field on the far side of the farm, 49 head of cattle watched on as a walker, a gaunt man with no shirt and mud-covered Levi’s, devoured number 50. Walkers in and around the farm had been few and far between. As a matter of fact, the one’s they’d dealt with inside the property line were the unfortunate few who’d found themselves locked up in Hershel’s barn. With horses in the stables, cattle in the fields, and people living in the yard, however, they might as well have put up a billboard advertisement on the 85.

_HERSHEL'S_

_ALL-YOU-CAN-TEAR-LIMB-FROM-LIMB_

_GEEK BUFFET_

The walker ripped the cow open and bathed the ground in blood.

* * *

“You need something’? Or you just like bein’ around people who don’t like you?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jimmy said.

“Why would you wanna do that?”

“Look, Daryl. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Beth—”

Daryl set the half-whittled arrow down and stuck his knife into the ground in front of him. “Ain’t we had this conversation already? And didn’t it end with you gettin’ your ass kicked last time?”

“She broke up with me.”

That got his attention. Truth be told, Daryl more or less forgot that Jimmy even existed. Since their fight in the front yard, Jimmy kept a wide berth. They’d see each other in passing, at target practice once, and the only other time Daryl had given him any thought was when Lori so graciously brought him up. She kissed him and never once did it cross his mind that Beth had a boyfriend. Beth _had_ a boyfriend, apparently— ' _had'_ being the operative word. Past tense.

* * *

Dale could hear his wife’s voice clear as day as he walked the fields and tried to settle the storm raging inside of him.

“ _Careful of your pressure, hun,”_ she’d say, _“Careful of your pressure.”_ When she said it, she’d been teasing, but he wasn’t sure his blood pressure had ever been higher than it was then. If the end of the world didn’t kill him, a heart attack just might.

They wanted to kill a kid. A kid! Based on the information they’d sent another kid to beat out of him. Of course, they did. Shane killed Otis, why not kill Randall. Why not use murder as a conflict resolution technique?

Have they fallen so far so fast?

He saw the slaughtered cow before he ever had a chance to see the walker coming up from behind. 

* * *

Beth wasn’t even sure if she believed in heaven anymore, that didn’t mean she didn’t like to picture Shawn and their mama there looking out over her as she played pop songs on the piano in the foyer while Lori, Carol, and Andrea watched from the sofa.

Their pain was like a stray cat that decided to make itself at home on the front stoop; it wasn’t allowed into the house or onto the furniture, but they made sure it had water. It didn’t take over their lives, it didn’t go away, they just made room for it there to come and go.

She sang Dolly Parton and wondered if, whether 6 feet beneath the dogwood tree or somewhere else entirely, they were singing along too.

* * *

“She broke up with me.”

“Tough break, sporto”

“I see how she looks at you, dude,” he continued, “I’m not blind.”

“Man, cut the bullshit. What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want her to get hurt any worse than she already has. I mean hasn’t she been through enough? She doesn’t need you to—”

* * *

A blood-curdling cry brought the night to a grinding halt. They froze—Daryl and Jimmy under the tree, Beth at the piano, Rick and Lori tucking Carl into bed, Glenn and Maggie in hers. The entire farm took a breath and held it.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting until a second scream broke the spell. Daryl took off running in the direction of the scream armed with only his knife—he never got to finish making that arrow.

“Go get Rick!!” he yelled back over his shoulder. Jimmy ran up to the house 

Just like that night in the quarry all over again, running toward some certain danger guided only by the sound of screaming and the metallic, bloody smell carried in the breeze. Now that the heat of the day had settled for the night, there was almost a chill in the air.

The gaunt walker with the Levi’s jeans sat on its knees crouched over something— _someone_ — illuminated only by the moonlight. The distinctly wet, squishing, sound that’d come to be associated with dead hands in a chest cavity and rotten teeth munching on intestines was punctuated only by distinctly human sobs. Daryl threw the latch on the metal gate. In one motion he ripped the geek away from its meal, shoved it to the ground on its back, and sent his knife through its skull.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

Dale tried to speak but the words came out garbled and moaned. The rusty gate squealed again as the others ran through it. Daryl waved his hands above his head and yelled, “Help! Over here! We need help!!”

Kneeling down next to Dale, he had half a mind to apply pressure to the wound, but there wasn’t anything left to apply pressure _to._ His hands hovered over the gore at a loss.

_Fuckfuckfuck_

_Hang in there, man. Just hang on._

Rick and Andrea got to them first. Daryl let Andrea take his place in the dirt next to Dale. She held Dale’s hand and murmured platitudes into his ear.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine,” she repeated ad nauseum as if saying it enough times would make it so.

Rick begged Hershel, God, and who or whatever else was listening to help Dale— _please, God, help him._

“There isn’t anything I can do,” Hershel replied gravely. Daryl doubted there was anything even God could do for him at that point.

“We gotta do something, Rick,” Andrea looked up and back down, “He’s suffering…”

He was suffering; that much was abundantly clear. There was so much blood they could practically taste it. Glenn, T Dog, Shane, and the others looked on as the seconds seemed to drag on as Dale stared through them, eyes wide in absolute terror.

Daryl took the Python out of Rick's hand cocked back the hammer. He’d been wrong before, back in the kitchen, when he’d thought nothing could possibly be louder than that chair dragging across the floor.

* * *

Earlier, they wrapped Dale up in the sheet, drove him back to the yard in the pickup, and went their separate ways for the night. In the morning, there’d be a funeral under the dogwood trees; again.

Until then, Daryl opted to pace restless circles around the fire. Two cigarettes later, his hands still hadn’t stopped shaking.

Protecting. Killing walkers, looking for Sophia, beating up Randall, shooting Dale—he wasn’t doing the dirty work, he was protecting. Daryl was who they needed him to be and did what they needed him to do. Because as hard as he pushed away from the rest of the group, he couldn’t shake that lingering sense of responsibility for them.

And he knew he’d done the right thing—Andrea _thanked him_ after for Chrissake—so why did he feel so _fucked_.

* * *

Beth laid awake in bed waiting for sleep to find her when a _tap_ on her window, different from the normal sounds in the settling old house, caught her attention. There was another _tap._ And another. And a third, a little louder than the first two. She rolled out of bed, clicked on the lamp on her bedside table, and walked cautiously over to the window. Another _tap_ and she undid the latch and slid the window open.

When Daryl promised—Scout's honor, as if they taught smokin’, cussin’, and squirrel huntin’ in the Scouts— that he’d quit avoiding her, she hadn’t expected him to start throwing rocks at her window like something out of an 80s movie. Beth leaned out over the ledge and smiled down at him; the nervous crease in his brow visible even two floors above.

Daryl met her at the back door off the kitchen, he was chewing on a toothpick and trying to figure out exactly what in the hell he thought he was doing. She opened the door just wide enough to slip through and closed it softly behind her.

“Hey, you okay?”

He nodded in the affirmative but didn’t say anything; not wanting to appear any more pathetic than could be avoided.

She gave him a long, appraising once-over before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. Beth could see right through him, but he knew that. He stiffened and tense before letting himself relax a little bit into her grip. The blanket she wore wrapped around her shoulders was soft and the ends of her hair tickled the back of his hand through the bandage.

“Are you on watch tonight?”

“Nah, Rick said to get some sleep. I’m goin’ with him to cut Randall loose in the mornin’.”

Beth intertwined their fingers and reached behind her to open the door with her other hand.

“Come on then,” she said, pulling him across the precipice into the house.

“Where are we goin’?”

“To get some sleep, since you’re going with Rick to cut Randall loose in the mornin’.”

Daryl nodded along and let her lead him through the house, up the stairs, and into her room. Any other time he would’ve resisted, but _fuck it_ , he thought, _this might as well happen._ If Hershel was going to shoot him for sneaking around with Beth, it was as good a night as any—in fact, a chest full of buckshot might’ve even been an improvement on the day he was having. 

* * *

Daryl hadn’t realized that he had been imagining what her room looked like until she opened the door and he saw that it looked exactly how he had been imagining it would. Her walls were lined with string lights which gave the room an almost golden glow. On one wall she had a large bookshelf, full, with two smaller stacks of books on the floor next to it. A blue rug laid in stark contrast to the wooden floor, her bed stuck out from the wall with more pillows than he thought anyone could reasonably need, and her desk was littered with pens, papers, candles, and little bottles of nail polish neatly arranged in rainbow order. There was a keyboard on a stand with sheet music laid on top in one corner and a guitar with a pick tucked between the strings next to it. A corkboard covered with photos—some of the various Greenes, others of Beth with her friends—hung over her bed. Standing in her room, you could almost forget how bad the world was outside of it.

They sat together on the edge of the bed and toed off their shoes. Beth laid down and pulled Daryl down next to her. For a while, they laid there on their sides facing each other in their usual comfortable silence. Between the normal apocalypse exhaustion, the image of Dale looking up at him from the ground that he couldn’t get out of his head, and the weight of knowing that inside of 24 hours he’d beat up one person for information and killed another, Daryl was running on empty; moving on autopilot. He hated that she got to see all the needy, vulnerable parts of himself; not because he thought she’d judge him, but because he resented the fact that he had needy, vulnerable parts in the first place.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Beth eventually whispered. And he must’ve started biting at his nails at some point because she pulled his hand away from his mouth and ran the pad of her thumb back and forth over the little star tattoo.

“I killed Dale…”

She hummed in acknowledgment, letting him find his words.

“I had to. He was pretty much dead already; he didn’t need to go all slow…In pain and all…”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Ain’t like killin’ walkers though, ain’t like killin’ deer either. It’s different. Feels different.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“No. I don’t know,” he sighed and rolled over onto his back.

“It’s okay if you do. But, if it helps at all, I think you did the right thing. He was in pain; you took his pain away and he died surrounded by people who care about him. That’s all we can really ask for, right? That’s what I’d want for my family…” she paused for a moment, lost in thought.

“At the quarry—the stuff with Jim and Amy—I thought you were just bein’ a jerk because you were upset about your brother and everythin’. And, I mean, you were definitely bein’ a jackass, but you were also tryin’ to help, right? You wanna do all the hard stuff so other people don’t have to.”

Yeah, she could see right through him.

“Hey,” Beth poked him lightly so he’d look at her. “You’re a good guy, Daryl Dixon. One of the best.”

He scoffed and she let him; his disbelief didn’t make it any less true. She kissed him before shifting so that her head rested on his chest, tucked up under his chin, and threw her arm around him.

“No more sad stuff, hm? Not tonight. Tell me somethin’ good.”

“Like what?”

“What’s your favorite color? And _don’t_ say green, if only I had a dollar for every time a guy tried that lame ass line, I’d be rich, Dixon. Rich.”

“What if green _is_ my favorite color? Hand to god.”

“Is it really?”

“Nah, ‘s blue. But green’s good too,” he said with a little half-shrug. Beth laughed muttered something about him being a dork.

“Okay, so you’re stranded on a desert island and—”

“I thought we weren’t talkin’ about sad shit no more?”

“We aren’t! So, you’re stranded on a deserted island and you can only listen to one band, watch one movie, and eat one food for the rest of your life. What do you pick?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little odd, Greene?”

“Humor me?”

“Fine. Um… Pizza, The Mummy, and Nirvana.”

“Hmmm… I’d pick Fleetwood Mac, Mulan, and McDonald's french fries.”

“Fleetwood Mac?”

“Mmhmm, I always wanted to be a singer like Stevie Nicks.”

“Prom queen _and_ pop star, huh?”

“Yeah, Daryl, I’m a real catch if you haven’t figured that out yet,” Beth teased and felt relief wash over her when Daryl actually cracked half a smile. He ran his fingertips over the bumps in her braid like a devotee praying the Rosary. They were going to be okay. Maybe not always, but at least for the night.

“If you could do anythin’ in the whole world right now, end times be damned, what would you do?”

 _This,_ he thought. _If I could do anything in the whole world, end times be damned, I’d still be doing this—lying here with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it; the last night spent on the farm, coming up on the final day. I know we don't like Jimmy, but I figured he should make one last appearance before he dies offstage. Fire + the first night on the road for the next chapter? And then I wanna do some travel chapters-- definitely the storage units and if anyone has anything they'd like to see/any ideas for places to go lmk.
> 
> Here's what I used as references for Beth's room ([1](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b8f7c9fc2d5fea004c4de83b8dd74a22/tumblr_inline_p82g03JU021r71khz_500.png)) ([2](https://data.whicdn.com/images/317620775/original.jpg))
> 
> This story has been nominated for [Moonshine Awards](https://ultimatebethylficlist.com/2021/01/04/moonshine-awards-2020-nominations-now-open/)\-- something I literally had no idea existed until I found out 2 days ago on tumblr. Whoever it was that nominated it, thank you for thinking of me. I can not stress enough how cool it is that people read this completely self-indulgent conglomerate of things I want to see and actually enjoy it. Thanks a million times over xxx


	20. Head Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Road: Day 1

Daryl was already gone when Beth woke up. The space where he’d been was cold and Beth assumed that he’d woken up before the sun—if he’d slept at all—and snuck back out to camp before anyone could notice his absence. She saw him that morning next to Rick going over the map one last time before dealing with Randall. If only her mother could’ve seen him there smoking on her white-washed porch looking like every boy she’d ever warned Beth to stay away from.

They buried Dale next to Shawn, Annette, and Sophia under the dogwood tree and left his old, beat-up hat balanced on the cross marking his grave. Hershel, who Beth suspected saw something of his own morality in Dale’s death, decided that the risk of living so spread out across the farmyard outweighed whatever reservations about Rick’s group he’d been holding onto and Beth spent the remainder of the afternoon helping the group move into the downstairs of the house, merging the family she was born into and the one that she’d found along the way.

“So, Glenn, are you gonna move into Maggie’s room?” Beth teased. Glenn’s face went bright red and he could barely sputter out a response before Beth and Maggie laughed themselves to tears.

“Living room’s fine, thanks!” He left out the _I’m not just going to hand Hershel a reason to kill me on a silver platter,_ but the sentiment stood. Beth left the two of them to unroll sleeping bags and went off to search the linen cabinets for more pillows. She wondered where Daryl would sleep—if he’d actually set foot into the house again, if maybe she could talk him into sneaking up the stairs to her room like he had the night before. Things were looking up on the farm. Beth felt like her glass was finally half-full again.

And then it shattered.

* * *

The fire sent black smoke billowing into the air like a giant chimney standing out against the sunrise. On the same stretch of 85 that brought them to the farm, they mourned for the farm and for the illusion of safety that’d gone up in smoke—ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 160 years of Greene family legacy reduced to smoldering rubble and rotting flesh. Patricia’s blood dried in a deep red stain at the end of Beth’s sleeve. She thought that if her mother’s death had been anything like Patricia’s she was happy she hadn’t been around to watch it happen.

It was a beautiful morning. A light breeze shook the trees, the sun shone in a perfect, blue sky; the kind of morning that sits in such stark contrast with the attitude of the day that it feels mocking. As if the birds are singing only to remind you that you aren’t. They needed to move. It’d been over 24 hours since any of them had slept, the walkers would be attracted to the fire and likely form a herd that rivaled the one that got them stuck on the highway the first go around, and they were without food, water, or any supplies other than the clothes on their backs. Rick, T Dog, Maggie, and Glenn stood at the hood of a nearby car—the message left for Sophia still visible in the back window—and poured over a map they’d found in another glove box.

“Glenn and I can go make a run now, try and scrounge up some gas,” Maggie offered. Hershel shot her a wayward glance but, for his credit, didn’t shut her down outright.

“No, we stay together. God forbid somethin’ happens and people get stranded without a car.”

“Rick, we're stranded now.”

“Look, let’s go through these cars one more time, see if we missed anythin’, and then we move. Who knows who or what’s lookin’ to head towards the fire.”

T Dog nodded, “Glenn and Maggie go left, me and Rick will go right. Meet back in a half-hour?”

“Alright. Half an hour. Daryl,” Rick called, “Hold down the fort.”

Beth sat in the back of the blue pickup truck, the one that _used to be_ Jimmy’s blue pickup truck, with Hershel’s hand around hers trying and failing not to think about _It—_ all of _It._ Hershel stared into the distance looking stricken in a way Beth couldn’t remember ever seeing in him before.

From the tree line behind the barrier, a walker stumbled out snarling and stumbling towards them. Before Beth could pull her knife from its spot in her boot, the walker was down with an arrow between its eyes. Daryl—ever vigilant, ever the protector—kept watch from on top of the now doorless minivan where Lori, Carol, and Carl waited for Rick and the rest of the inner circle to figure out what the hell they were going to do. Beth caught Daryl’s eye briefly and offered him thanks and as much of a smile as she could muster which he returned with a nod. She looked away, but he didn’t.

* * *

_Rick. Lori. Carol. Carl. Glenn. Maggie. T Dog. Hershel. Beth._

Daryl counted them in his head over and over. Beth always came last. Maybe he wanted to save the best for last or maybe he thought he could stall the moment when she didn’t make the list anymore. Camp was set back from the road in a small clearing behind an old brick wall. The SUV ran out of gas a few hours before sunset and there weren’t enough seats in the other vehicles to fit everyone meaning they were forced to both stop for the night and confront everything they’d spent the day running away from.

They gathered around a small fire picking at scrawny squirrels and passing around the 2 cans of corn someone found earlier. Strength in numbers is a double-edged sword; sure, there are more people to fight, but that means more mouths to feed. Especially since Lori was, as it turns out, eating for two.

“We can't just sit here with our asses hanging out.”

“I know it looks bad, we've all been through hell and worse, but at least we found each other. I wasn't sure--I really wasn't--but we did. We're together. We keep it that way. We'll find shelter somewhere. There's gotta be a place,” Rick said. He sounded so sure, or maybe he was just a good liar.

“Rick, look around. Okay? There's walkers everywhere. They're migrating or something.”

“There's gotta be a place not just where we hole up, but that we fortify, hunker down, pull ourselves together, build a life for each other. I know it's out there. We just have to find it.” Daryl realized it wasn’t false hope in Rick’s voice, it was desperation.

“Even if we do find a place and we think it's safe, we can never be sure. For how long? Look what happened with the farm. We fooled ourselves into thinking that that was safe.”

“And we won’t make that mistake again.”

 _Says the guy who kept geeks in his barn like a fucking circus attraction_ , Daryl thought.

“What do we do?” Carol asked soft enough for only Daryl to hear.

“Why are you askin’ me? It’s up to them.”

“You’re basically second in command, you have a say.”

“Maybe. Don’t matter to me though. I’m goin’ where they’re goin’, that’s it.”

“So you’ll stick around and be Rick’s henchman? Or do you have some other reason for staying?” She threw a sidelong glance at Beth and turned back to Daryl, eyeing him in a way he knew meant she was looking for a reaction.

“What do you want?”

“A leader who knows what they’re doing.”

Daryl scoffed, “You think I know what I’m doin’ any more than Rick does? You think I wanna lead? Hell no.”

A rustling in the brush behind them sent most everyone to their feet in an instant.

“What was that?”

“Could’ve been anything,” Daryl said. “Probably a raccoon or a possum or somethin’.”

“Or a walker.”

“Should we check it out?” Glenn asked. Panic began to settle in across the group. _This is exactly why I don’t fuckin’ want to be anybody’s leader,_ Daryl thought.

“The last thing we need is for everyone to be running off in the dark. We don't have the vehicles. No one's traveling on foot,” Rick said.

“I'm not—“I’m not sitting here, waiting for another herd to blow through. We need to move, now.”

“And go where Maggie?” Beth’s voice stood out from the crowd. “We can’t fit everyone in the cars we have left, and we can’t go wandering around in the dark lookin’ for another one.”

“No one is going anywhere.”

“You’re the ‘leader’ here! Do something!”

“I am doin’ something!” Rick yelled, the tension finally reaching a fever pitch. “I’m keeping this group together!

“Maybe you people are better off without me. Go ahead. I say there's a place for us, but maybe—maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe—maybe I'm fooling myself again. Why don't you—why don't you go and find out yourself! Send me a postcard. Go on, there's the door. You can do better? Let's see how far you get!”

“Everyone needs to calm down _now_!” Hershel said, his scolding tone reminiscent of the fact that he was a father of 3 wild Greene children. 

* * *

They were fucked. Categorically fucked. Daryl knew it, he knew Rick knew it, Carol apparently knew it, and Daryl knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of the group came to the same understanding of how precarious their situation really was—but he hadn’t known that time would be coming sooner rather than later.

As the sun set on one of the worst days since the turn, Daryl couldn’t help but wonder if they were only prolonging the inevitable, running away from a fate that would only ever be waiting around the next corner. That’s all it was—a waiting game. He wasn’t ever religious but, growing up Georgian, Daryl knew enough of God to understand he didn’t take kindly to those who’d defy His plan. And if the quarry, the CDC, and the farm were any indication, it didn’t appear as though any of them were on God’s good side.

On his left, Beth watched the chaos unfold, looking about as defeated as he felt. She took Daryl’s hand; hers shook.

_Rick. Lori. Carol. Carl. Glenn. Maggie. T Dog. Hershel. Beth._

_Rick. Lori. Carol. Carl. Glenn. Maggie. T Dog. Hershel. Beth._

He counted them and waited for it to fall apart all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the winter on the road. We'll be back to regular fluff next chapter, I needed this one to get them off the farm. 
> 
> Sidenote: I started a new story called [Ache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255634/chapters/71839953) and the first 2 chapters are up now.  
> It's a lot angstier than Linger is, but if you're interested you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255634/chapters/71839953) and if not, see you back here in a few days for some early season fluff. Good talk! xxx


	21. Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, some fluff. Sort of.  
> Flashback in italics.  
> **General Trigger Warning**

“Alright, tough stuff, show me your right hook.” Beth balled her fist and aimed for Daryl’s palm.

“You can stab geeks through the skull no problem, but you can’t throw a punch?” Daryl smirked.

“Are you gonna tell me I hit like a girl next?”

“Nah, I’ve seen Maggie punch. You hit like Glenn.”

“ _I heard that,”_ Glenn called from a lawn chair on the deck of the house they’d been squatting in for a few days.

“Keep your thumb on the outside or you’ll break it,” Daryl said, ignoring Glenn completely. “And keep your wrist straight, you’ll break that too.”

* * *

_Second night on the road, Beth approached Daryl with a request while he was on watch._

_“You want me to teach you to fight?”_

_“Yeah… Will you?”_

_“Why?”_

_“Why?? What if something happens? I need to be able to defend myself and maybe I won’t always have a knife or a gun and you know how hard it is to find ammo and it isn’t like we have a ton to go around as is and—”_

_“Beth,” he interrupted, “Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”_

_“You don’t know that! No one knows that, not for sure! What if we run into people like Randall’s group? What if we run into Randall’s group? Kill the men and rape the women, right? I want to have a chance, okay? And if you won’t help me then—”_

_“Hey. I’ll teach you, alright? But nothin’s gonna happen to you.”_

_“I’m scared, Daryl,” she said, taking a seat on the ground next to him. She pulled his hand into her lap and played with his fingers. “I was scared at the quarry and at the CDC, but this is different… I’m not brave like you and Maggie and Glenn and everyone…”_

_“Yeah, you are. You’re scared and you’re doin’ it anyway. That makes you brave.”_

_“Are you scared?”_

_“I ain't scared of anythin'.”_

* * *

Daryl put his hands up and Beth landed a blow in the middle of his left palm, a little harder than the first one.

“Better. Now you’re punchin’ like Carl.”

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk” she huffed, sending her fist directly into his shoulder.

“Whatever. Try it again, Greene.”

* * *

Maggie stepped out onto the deck overlooking the yard and took a seat in a chair next to Glenn’s. It’d been about a week since the farm and the 3 days they’d been at the house were relatively quiet. Not a lot of walkers, no people, the cellar had a few jars of preserves that were still edible, and Daryl’s snares caught a couple of squirrels and the odd rabbit. It wouldn’t be permanent—nothing was, not anymore—but so far so good.

“What are they doin’ down there?”

“Beth’s learning how to fight and Daryl’s making jokes at other people’s expense.”

“Hmm…”

“Which is weird because it’s like—Daryl. Making jokes is like 3rd base for him.”

“That’s…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’. It’s fine.” Glenn cast Maggie a sidelong glance but opted to ignore her tone which very clearly stated that something was absolutely the matter and no it was not fine. They watched on from above as Beth tried and failed to kick Daryl’s side. He caught her foot and laughed—really laughed—as she hopped on one leg flailing around just barely keeping her balance.

* * *

On the fourth morning in the house, they ran. T Dog watched the herd break the tree line just after dawn and by the time the sun had fully risen the group piled into the cars and put their temporary sanctuary in the rearview. 15 miles later the road widened and opened up into a two-stoplight town a little bigger than the one Beth grew up in— _this one has a Starbucks_ , she remarked.

To the left, a small elementary school with a playground sat untouched and overtaken by weeds. To the right, a strip mall with a handful of mom and pop shops and a small grocery store, the kind that would've been put out of a business the minute a Walmart came to town.

They parked around back, using the buildings as cover for the vehicles, and took out the few stray walkers wandering around.

"We'll do the big store first and if that goes well, we can check the smaller ones after," Rick said.

"If we split into smaller groups we can check all of them at once."

"We’d risk getting separated or the cars getting surrounded—"

"Or stolen," Daryl groused.

"Or stolen. We start with the one mostly to have food and go from there."

"I can stay out here. Keep watch, watch the cars," Carol offered. 

"Good. Carol, Carl, Lori, Hershel, and Beth stay here. The rest of us will go in. Clear first. Then water, food, medicine."

"I wanna help,” Beth stepped forward and met Rick’s eyes.

"Beth no," Maggie said.

"Maggie, I have been out here just as long as you have. I know how to do this. I want to help."

"I don't know if that’s such a good idea, Bethy," Hershel said, he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

"I can help. I know the medications; I know what bandages to look for. If I go in too then it’s even pairs. Me and Maggie can take the pharmacy and it'll go twice as fast!"

"Beth—"

"I am not a child and I'm not asking."

Beth held her own. She looked from Rick to Maggie and her father and back to Rick. As she scanned the crowd, she caught Daryl’s half-amused smirk and had to look away before her face could go red and ruin her moment. Rick nodded silently, looking for Hershel's reaction and likely wishing anyone else was the group's leader and wondering when exactly it was that diffusing familial strife became his job.

"Okay, she’s right," he said. "Me and T-Dog will check for water and ammo. Daryl and Glenn, you're on food. Maggie and Beth are on the pharmacy. Don't bother with expiration dates we can sort it out later.”

The smaller group broke off and rounded the corner to the grocery store's side entrance.

"No guns unless you have to, we don't need the noise and we don't have ammo to spare."

"Rick left, Maggie straight, we got right," Glenn said once Daryl finished picking the lock.

Rick counted off _1...2...3..._ on his fingers and swung the door open.

* * *

In welcome contrast to the awful luck of the previous week, the grocery store and pharmacy were free of significant walker infestation. Any looting must have taken place before everyone realized The Turn wouldn’t be unturning any time soon; the front window had been smashed in and the three registers cleaned out, but the nonperishables were untouched. A display pyramid of canned green beans sat in the middle of the store like the Holy Grail on a pedestal.

"Can I ask you something?"

“No,” Daryl said, not bothering to even look back at Glenn.

“You’re hilarious.”

Daryl scoffed and continued arranging the canned vegetables in their bag.

“But for real, what's up with you and Beth?"

"What?"

"You're showing her how to fight?"

"Is that your question?"

Realizing he may have just let a really pissed off cat out of a bag he wasn’t even supposed to know existed, Glenn stuttered, "I just mean—You guys seem close..."

"You got somethin’ you wanna say to me?" Daryl snapped back. He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but that particular line of questioning made him anxious—especially coming from the guy sleeping with the sister of the girl he was _supposed_ to be staying away from. The absolute last thing Daryl needed on top of everything else was Hershel and Maggie stringing him up as walker bait for messing around with Beth. And it’s not like he’d have any idea how to answer that question even if he wanted to. He and Beth hadn’t exactly had time for the “what are we?” conversation between the near-constant fleeing and fighting since the farm, not that he was in any rush to have it.

The truth? Daryl had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that whatever it was scared the shit out of him—Beth Greene scared the shit out of him.

"No man I—"

"Then mind your fucking business." He zipped the backpack and threw it over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have a plot. An argument? Walkers? Maybe! Who's to say. xxx


	22. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Daryl and Glenn have their talk, Maggie and Beth have a conversation of their own.

“Okay, whatcha got?” 

“Antibiotics. Amoxicillin and azithromycin courtesy of a,” Beth flipped over the prescription bottles to check the name on the labels, “Mr. Charles Fitch. You?”

“Couple of Epi-Pens, unopened bottle of Advil, and some really strong pain meds we can probably leave behind.”

“No pre-natal anything?”

“Not yet,” Maggie said, pulling another basket of prescription bottles down from the shelves in front of her. Neither spoke, apparently content to work in silence despite the obvious, festering tension. They went through them quickly, pulling out the ones they could use and tossing the rest in a separate box.

* * *

"We can't keep doin' this," Beth said with a sigh. She added the two bandaid boxes to her bag and zipped it shut, turning to face her sister.

"Doin' what?"

"You have to start trustin' me."

"I do trust you."

"But you don't think I can do this."

"I never said that."

"Maggie, it’s just like back on the farm. You let daddy keep me locked up in the house, you didn't tell me about the barn—"

"I'm tryin' to protect you. You're my baby sister, that's my job!"

"We don't have that luxury anymore! We don't have the farm anymore. We _all_ have to do our jobs if we wanna make it out here. And I know you wanna protect me but I wanna protect you too. And daddy and everybody else."

"Is that why you're learnin' how to fight?"

"I want to be able to take care of myself and help take care of the group. I'm not a little kid, I wanna pull my weight."

"So, Daryl just... offered to teach you?"

"No, I asked him."

"Hm," Maggie hummed turning back to the pharmacy counter. She picked up a prescription bottle to check the label and Beth rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothin"

"Maggie Mae don't nothin me. I know you."

"It’s nothin. Daryl just doesn't seem like the kind of guy to do a favor like that."

"What does that mean?" 

"It doesn't mean anything, just an observation."

"He's a good person" Beth countered more defensively than she'd really intended to. She wasn't blind, she knew how the others looked at Daryl like he was less than them. Even if they didn't mean to, even if they didn't mean it, they looked down on him. He'd probably be embarrassed having little Beth Greene come to his defensive; he _could_ take care of himself, but maybe he didn't always have to. 

"I didn't say he wasn't."

"Why don't you just say what you mean?” They stood toe to toe; arms crossed. _Before_ , that kind of standoff would have prompted immediate parental intervention lest an all-out brawl ensue.

"Look,” Maggie said, “Good person or not that doesn't mean I have to like whatever it is that’s goin’ on with you two.”

“There’s nothin’ goin’ on between anyone,” Beth lied. Sort of. Just like she lied to Jimmy in the barn before kissing Daryl in the kitchen and inviting him into her bed. And just like Jimmy, Maggie didn’t buy that story that for a second either.

“Sure,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “The CDC, your little walks around the farm, he’s teachin’ you how to fight when he just _barely_ talks to the rest of us in complete sentences.”

“He’s my friend.”

“You better tell _him_ that then. That boy looks at you like you hung the moon and all the stars and invented cigarettes.”

Beth felt a blush—one she hoped Maggie couldn’t see in the dim light—climb up her neck and settle in her cheeks. “Please don’t say anything to him. He’s my friend, he didn’t do anything.”

“I’m not—” Maggie let her arms drop to her sides and relaxed her shoulders, the previous annoyance in her voice was replaced by a kind of imploring and concern.

“—I’m not saying that he did. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, okay? You can make your own decisions; I know you can. I just want you to be careful. With this,” she gestured to the store around them, “And with _him._ He _is_ a decent guy, well, sort of, he’s just also a total mess. That's a lot of emotional baggage and I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you get caught up in that, Bethy.”

“Maggie it’s not—”

“I trust you to make your own decisions, but that means you’re responsible for making good ones. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Rick’s whistle, their predetermined “time to go” signal, echoed through the store.

“Don’t say anything to him, please? And _please_ don't tell daddy...”

Maggie nodded and gathered the last of their things before handing the backpack to Beth. They met with the others in front of the now-empty display table in the center of the store and left out of the same side door they’d entered through.

* * *

It took a moment for Beth’s eyes to adjust to the light; one of the many apocalypse oddities she’d noticed was that the dark always seemed darker and the light always lighter than she remembered them being before. Was the sun always so bright? Was a room always so dark with the lights turned out?

Carl’s voice roused her from her thoughts, “Find anything good?”

“3 bags worth of canned food and some dried beans,” Glenn said. He and Maggie loaded the rest of the food and the 3 cases of found water into the trunk.

“Got these too.” T-Dog held up an unopened pack of Marlboro reds and waved it back and forth. He pulled out 4 for himself, slipping them into his shirt pocket, and tossed the pack to Daryl, who caught it and nodded back to him in thanks.

Beth shook her head and made her way over to where Daryl stood on the far side of the SUV facing the woods, always on watch.

"Those things will kill you, you know," she teased, leaning her shoulder against the car door. She looked up at him, but his eyes never left the tree line. 

“Whatever,” Daryl mumbled around the cigarette dangling from his lip. He took the cigarette between two fingers and held it out to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie isn't always going to be the "bad guy." She's well-intentioned, but you know what they say about the road to hell. I wanted her and Beth to have a little talk like Daryl and Glenn did and then next chapter I'm thinking Beth and Daryl will have a real talk and maybe a fight? And then the storage unit chapter that I'm trying to figure out the logistics of. 
> 
> I have a bunch of school work I have to catch up on, but next week we should be back to normal-ish. The next chapter will have more substance (read: Will be an actual chapter).
> 
> My other story [Ache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255634/chapters/71839953) also has an update if you're in to that kind of thing. xxx


	23. Stained Glass

It never ceased to be amazing, the number of churches per square mile in Georgia. Towns with 1 stop light and a handful of shops but a church on every corner as if they had even had enough of a population to fill all those pews. The Greenes were true believers, proper Southern Baptist folk who went to church every Sunday and watched their girls sing in the choir and their oldest boy lead the youth group. The Dixon family weren’t ever the church-going types. Merle “found God” in prison once, but Daryl was almost certain that had more to do with pleasing the parole board than it did any actual belief. Outside of Merle’s convenient Christianity, no Dixon had set foot in a church in Lord-only-knew how many years.

Their mother, Lorna June—June to her friends, or she would’ve been if she had any— sometimes took her boys down to the local congregation when things in the house got too crazy. Some of the women there ran a food kitchen out of the back room and they had a playground open to the public. Daryl had a handful of memories of sitting on a squeaky swing watching Merle smoke a cigarette on a bench and ignore dirty looks from busy-body old ladies while their mother went inside to collect canned vegetables from the food bank, donated clothes, and to see the nurse that stopped in sometimes. He didn’t know if she prayed or believed or if, between the booze and the beatings, she even had the wherewithal to pray or believe in anything in the first place, but what he did know was that she died. And one day, God would have to look him in the eye and explain that to him.

* * *

The church they were staying in looked too much like one back home, down to the swing set in the back squeaking as the wind blew the empty seat back and forth. It made him feel sick in the same way the smell of Virginia Slims and Jim Beam made him gag and the metal-on-metal sound of a belt with a large buckle coming undone made him flinch.

After their success with the grocery store and relatively quiet night spent on the floor in a bookstore at the far end of the same plaza, their luck ran out and the herd caught up. There was no way to know if it was the same herd, but it didn’t really matter whether it was or wasn’t they just needed to get the hell out of dodge. Daryl took up the rear on his bike, the SUV and the pickup truck in front of him, as they drove down a country road not dissimilar to the ones back in the town he’d grown up in. Small town means fewer people means fewer walkers. Usually. It’s not an exact science.

The winding country road eventually branched off into an even smaller one and, after following that one a mile or so off the beaten path, they found the church. Tall, whitewashed exterior with stained glass windows and steeple with bells—real bells, not those fake ones on a timer they’d heard back in Senoia. Arched windows fitted with stained glass stood tall behind the altar and washed the floor and the empty, dusty pews in vibrant color broken up only by a long cross shadow that stretched from the nave to the double-doored entrance.

* * *

T Dog, Daryl, and Rick shoved the last 2 rows worth of heavy wood pews back against the door and stacked them. To the left of the altar and behind a locked door, the preacher’s office looked the same as the day it was shut up; walls lined with books and trinkets covered in three months worth of dust, a desk with paperwork and framed photos, a cabinet behind the desk shut up with a padlock—presumably to keep the tithes and communion wine safe from the less-than-reformed. They left the back door locked but not barricaded.

Hershel found the bible on the podium untouched, just like everything else in the church seemed to be.

Glenn broke the silence, only saying what everyone else was already thinking.

“It’s almost too quiet here…”

“The road we took to get here blends in with the rest of the highway, maybe we’re just the first people to notice it?”

“Yeah but, what about the people who came here? I mean that other church had people sitting in it but this one… I don’t know it’s like frozen in time.”

“Maybe for now—” Hershel started, stepping down from the dais bible in hand “—We take our blessin’s as they come and cross our bridges when we get to them.”

“Amen.”

* * *

Daryl did his damnedest not to look at Beth leaned over the pew listening to her daddy read scripture but the afternoon coming through the stained glass lit her up like an angel down from heaven and he had to look in spite of himself. Distance—he needed to put distance between them, he decided. It was all fun and games sneaking around on the farm but there wasn’t any farm to sneak around on anymore. She was bound to figure out what he was doing if she hadn’t already; they hadn’t spoken to each other since the cigarette they’d shared the day before and it was only a matter of time before Beth came to give him hell about it. The church had him on edge, he and Glenn’s awkward conversation from the day before had him on edge, his general high-strung disposition had him on edge, and he was just about ready to jump ship when Beth stood led Maggie by the hand back into the pastor's office. They emerged with an arm full of candles, a stack of paper, and a blue pencil box straight out of a fifth grader's school desk.

10-year-old curiosity finally getting the better of him as Beth went to work counting candles and cutting the papers into strips Carl asked, “What are you doin’?”

“Memorial candles,” she said, looking up at him from her spot on the floor. “There’s one for everyone. We’ll write down the names of the people we care about and tape them to the candles. And then when we light them, everyone we love will know we’re thinkin’ of them wherever they are.”

And then everything became way too much.

As Carl moved excitedly down the aisle to help Beth with her craft project, Daryl stood and made his way to the pastor’s side office careful not to draw any undue attention to himself. Carol gave him a look half concern half a stern: _you better not disappear into a cloud of smoke, Dixon_ and he nodded reassurance at her.

He slipped out the door connecting the back office to the side yard and sat on one of the swings.

* * *

 _Everythin’ changes and nothin’ does,_ he thought.

If he squinted his eyes and turned his head to the side he could almost see a teenaged Merle leaning against the chain-link watching him on the swing while their mother collected old, donated sneakers and canned corn that they’d eat cold because it wasn’t like anyone was doing any cooking in the Dixon house.

And there he was almost two decades later, no mother, no brother, sitting on a churchyard swing waiting to eat cold, canned corn.

There’d always been children without mothers and mothers without children and babies being born into lives out to get them.

Everything changed, but nothing was different.

* * *

Figured it’d be her who came to find him. Always her.

The sun was lower in the sky, a hair’s breadth away from grazing the tops of the trees.

“You lost?”

“Nope,” she said, exaggerating the ‘p’ with a _pop._ “Lookin’ for somethin’.”

“You find it?”

“I think so.” The metal beams creaked as Beth took the swing next to his. She let her legs hang down and kicked softly at the old wood chips with the toe of her boot.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Daryl…”

“Beth.”

She sighed a long exhale. “You don’t _have_ to tell me what’s wrong, but you can if you want to. You know that right...?”

Daryl avoided her eyes. He didn’t want to talk about it—not about Merle, not about his mom, not about the church back home that looked too much like the church were at, not about the question Glenn asked that he had no idea how to answer and was, frankly, a little bit absolutely terrified to think what Beth’s answer would’ve been. He told himself it was too heavy to shoulder her with and ignored the feeling buried deep inside his chest that was scared if she knew that she wouldn’t want him anymore. If she wanted him at all. 

Beth stood from her swing and walked around behind Daryl.

“What are you doin’?” He craned his neck to look at Beth from over his shoulder.

“I’m pushin’ you, or don’t you know how swings work?”

“Smart ass…” Her hands pressed in between his shoulder blades and made the scars there burn beneath his clothes.

“Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s so.” He didn’t need to see her face to know she was wearing that same defiant grin, eyebrow quirked a little bit, that she had on whenever she knew she was about to get her way.

After a few more unsuccessful attempts at moving the swing more than a few inches, Beth gave up trying to push him and, instead, opted to drape her arms around his neck and rest her chin on his shoulder.

“Back home, _before,_ we used to go to a church like this. I was in choir and last December there were auditions to see who’d get the solo at the Christmas pageant? Allison Miller got the part over me, but only because her mama was best friends with the preacher’s wife—”

Daryl ran his fingers across her arm and took her hand where it fell against his chest.

“—And everybody knew it too. And then she had the nerve to tell me ‘Envy is a sin, Bethany.’ Can you believe that?? I have never felt more like Maggie’s sister in my entire life I was so mad!

But that’s not even the best part. A week later she goes and gets laryngitis from shovin’ her tongue down Maxwell Porter’s throat and I got to the sing the part anyway!”

“Church choir always so dramatic?”

“Yes,” she replied with a tone so final, so absolute, so matter of fact that Daryl couldn’t help but laugh a little bit.

“Anyway, I stepped up to sing and mama, daddy, Maggie, and Shawn were in the second row from the front and my mama had the biggest smile on her face. Afterward, she was clappin’ so loud I swear I could hear her rings hittin’ each other. I hadn’t thought about that in months until we got to the church today…”

“You miss her?”

“I always miss her. Everyone misses someone but no one wants to talk about it because then it’s too real. That’s why I wanted to make the memorial candles, so maybe we can all try to move on a little bit.”

Beth pressed a soft kiss into his neck and another beside his jaw. He looked back at her again, hoping whatever awe-struck expression he had plastered all over his face didn’t give it all away.

“Why’d you do that..?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t.”

_IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_

_Why are you wastin’ your time on me?_

“Don’t stay out here too late, okay? It’ll be dark soon.”

Daryl nodded knowing if he opened his mouth there’d be no way to keep from vomiting out his feelings all over her boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of this one xxx
> 
> Church refs:  
> [Outside](https://gibsongirl247.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/102_1573.jpg)  
> [Inside](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e1/69/52/e169526fc39efe3461bd9707cbfd7118.jpg)  
> [Swings](https://fsb.zobj.net/crop.php?r=otG60umJd9F9itSko29BRstysECLcbk-xVAFnYhZysq-Z-kT6C838Ez-1mkwNDGogGhW65c1Vl-jjkE0PTXR-AMGmLKJ62dPa7T0Mngw5M0gb1Uy9JIAxHrJS1OxQNoIqxvNSR89t7Y6xsZW)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! xxx


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